#but water is like the only thing i can do habitually

[thedreadvampy]

my therapist spent today's session making Faces at me about getting an ADHD diagnosis

which

I can honestly say I have never seriously considered the possibility of seeking an ADHD diagnosis but she might not be a billion miles off

I was describing how I get "fizzy bored" where I have no energy or ability to move and nothing holds my attention but I feel like my bones are trying to vibrate out of me with the desire to be Doing Things and she was like 🤔 and I got onto the fact that I often need to be doing 3-4 things at once to ease into focusing on one and she was like 🤨 and then I mentioned how I find it really difficult to start doing things but once I'm in it I'm super focused and she was like 😌 have you considered the possibility of an ADHD diagnosis?

and so I explained that I don't really see the point because even though, unlike EDS and autism, a diagnosis could suggest an actual treatment, I don't really feel like anything I've described is disabling me cause I have the tools to manage it now most of the time and I feel Fizzy Bored WAY less often these days. and she was like 🤨

and I was like yeah to be fair actually I did use to think that about chronic pain, trauma and having shit eyesight and doing something about them did really change my experience. and she was like 😌 and I was like and actually now we mention it the fact that I sometimes for NO REASON AT ALL simply put off doing things even though they would be really easy to do and I want to do them for LITERAL YEARS is maybe. A thing that it might be nice to change if I could. And she was like 🤔 and I was like OH FUCK I'M GOING TO HAVE TO GENUINELY CONSIDER THIS POSSIBILITY AREN'T I?

anyway after talking a mile a minute and overrunning by 15 minutes I then got a quarter of a mile away on foot and realised I'd left my glasses on her table. she opened the door I went HEY SPEAKING OF ADHD

[thoughtssvt]

adventures of sugar daddy nanami kento and his frugal sugar baby [ pt. 2 ]

nanami kento x reader ; fluff & humor ; nsfw joke | [ pt. 1 ]

MDNI — 18+ interactions only

A/N : it's implied that reader is still attending school, whether that be college undergrad or grad is up to you; tldr: reader is over the age of 18

"darling, are you busy right now?" kento's voice dripped from the speaker of your phone like thick honey.

"nope, go ahead," you confirm that you have time to talk as you wipe the sweat off your brow, the summer sun and scalding water making your body temperature rise.

you could practically hear kento's brows furrow, "are you sure? you sound a distance away and I can hear the water running," he said suspiciously.

you cringed, holding your breath as you slowly slid the plate onto the rack only to cringe at the sharp hiss of ceramic skidding against metal.

"I thought you started using the dish washer," kento sighed, the creak of his office chair putting the image of a disappointed kento leaning back in his chair in your head.

"I don't trust it, kento!" you cried dramatically. you would've clutched at your heart if your hands weren't soaking, sparkling glasses weeping on the rack at the mere thought of being thrown in satan's machine.

a staccato sigh and your muffled chuckles filled the kitchen. "anyway," kento continued, "I was wondering if you had the energy for something public." he asked, always considerate of your social battery.

you blotted your hands against the hand towel that hung from the oven door's handle, humming happily as you reached for the nice hand lotion kento had gotten for you, worried about the state of your hands considering the temperature of the water you habitually used. "why? is this some secret exhibition sex club thing that you rich people have?" you teased.

"I want to treat you to an outing since you refuse to do it yourself," kento poked back, speeding passed your joke, already used to your antics.

"oh, not denying it? does it actually exist?" your eyes widened in feigned suspicion, a weak attempt at changing the subject.

"do you know why I started looking for a sugar baby?" kento continued. you sucked in a breath only to be cut off, "nevermind... don't answer that." kento sighed, making you chuckle. "I wanted someone to enjoy spending my money. I lost that kind of excitement a long time ago, so you don't have to hold back. you can ask me for anything that will make you happy, okay?" he explained, sincerity oozing from his voice.

you nodded as you listened, ears perking up towards the end. "anything?" you parroted drawn out and timid.

౨ৎ

kento scrubbed his hands against his scalp, blond locks effectively spiking in every direction. you were both sat next to each other at the dining table, crowding around your laptop-- the one you'd refused to replace, deadset on it lasting you at least another four years despite the volume the fans worked being loud enough to wake kento from his sleep. kento sat defeated, chin digging into his palm as he stared into the abyss while you wore a gleaming smile on your face, excitedly knocking against the table as you waited for your prehistoric machine to load.

once the confirmation screen popped up you wrapped your arm around kento's, pulling him in close. "you were right, kento! spending all this money is fun!" you chimed, wiggling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

kento stared at you with glassy eyes. "I don't know what to do to make you understand," he croaked. "was this really fun for you?" he softened as he took in your features and how much more energized you seemed after just a few clicks.

when he got home from work you'd dragged him to the table, pulling up the tragic student loan debt page, eagerly asking him if it was really okay to spend this much all at once. he'd paid off your loans and the remaining balance of your current semester. you felt like you were floating, to say the least.

kento was more than happy to pay these debts off, but he'd assumed that if you had any they would've been your first priority, not a scrubdaddy and a dish rack. he deflated once again at the mere memory.

you chuckled fondly at the display, reaching to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "fine, fine. let's go."

his brows knit tightly as you input the address into his phone, sticking it to the dash before securing your seatbelt. you had him park a bit away from a 7-eleven. he followed you hesitantly, watching as you hummed quietly to yourself, a bounce in our step as the two of you took a short walk down to akihabara station. you stopped with your arms spread in a grandiose gesture, the wall behind you stacked floor to ceiling with gashapon machines.

"i've always wanted to try one of these, but the probability that I would get what I wanted on my first try was always slim." you explained as your eyes scanned the wall for a specific capsule series. you held your palm open asking for coins which kento handed to you with a gentle smile.

he watched you for who knows how long. the capsules kept coming, countless duplicates filling his arms. and it was worth it to see your smile, bright and unashamed, every time you popped a capsule open.

"ah, finally!" you cheered as you turned to kento, a small plastic sandwich in the palm of your hand, the same sandwich he got everyday for lunch.

his heart overflowed, spreading heat across his chest. you'd gone through all that work just to get his sandwich. even given the opportunity to do something for yourself you still thought of others, but you were happy and that was enough for him.

"come, come! I think I saw one that had a desk like the one in your office." you beamed, eyes busy searching for the machine with every intention to set these figures up in the corner of your own desk. somewhere along the way kento left you for a moment just to stop by a store for a bag, dumping all your gachas in it until you got exactly what you were looking for. a smile plastered on his face as you continuously loaded coins into the machine.

he rests a hand on your thigh on the drive home, pinching it just enough to grab your attention. "thank you," he whispers, bringing your hand to his face to kiss at your knuckles. thank you for showing him all the small happiness the world had. he had a lot to learn from you.

part 1 | sugar daddy kento masterlist | jjk men x reader masterlist

divider by @tyuniwa

tag list : @that-goth-bisexual @yannauauau

[doberbutts]

Curious about something you mentioned in your post last week, you said that in your opinion all drugs should be legal and I’m curious about how that would be a positive at all? Like I get weed bc it’s pretty harmless but when I think of drugs I think of cocaine and heroin, which have destroyed so many lives. If it was widely available wouldn’t that end up hurting more people than helping? That’s just my opinion but I’m curious on the other side

I do think all drugs should be legal. This is said knowing that addiction runs in my family and that the only reason my older sister is my *sister* is due to drug use and addiction. Otherwise she'd be my cousin.

Making drugs illegal does not stop people from getting high. It does not stop drug related crime. And it certainly does not stop drugs from tearing families apart.

Addiction is a symptom of a larger problem. Solve the problem and the addict problem goes away. Solve the addict problem and drugs stop ruining lives and destroying families and creating massive amounts of drug related violence. Places that have roled out decriminalization strategies effectively have seen an overall reduction in crime rates across the board, a reduction in recreational drug use, and a reduction in bloodborne illness like HIV. Creating safe needle exchanges as well as safe places to get high with medical staff onhand has also created a locale where very few people die from overdose.

Most people hear "decriminalize all drugs" and think I mean a free-for-all. I don't. I think the drug market should be regulated. I don't think you should be able to get ketamine or heroin over the counter at a walmart like you can get asprin. But I think it's time to stop putting people in jail for getting high.

My aunt tore her life and her family and her health apart for years while she was addicted to heroin. My sister, her daughter, needed to be removed from her care due to the amazingly bad choices she made as a mother due to her addiction and her prioritizing drugs over the health and safety of her daughter. My aunt has had multiple heart attacks from the damage the constant drug use did to her body.

My aunt is more than a decade sober and do you know why? It's not because she got a wakeup call when her daughter was taken away, because at the time she willingly and freely signed her over to my parents because that got her "out of [her] hair". It's not because she had a heart attack, because she went right back to it the moment she was out of the hospital. It's not even because she spent time in rehab and prison, because the moment she was out she was using again.

No, my aunt got sober because her life changed. She was put on a better pain management plan. She got out of her shitty marriage to her shitty husband. She completed some education to make her more hireable so she didn't have to rely on less than safe means of paying her bills. She reconnected with my sister and reforged their relationship once she was 18. She bought her own house. She found love with someone who didn't give a shit about her past and brought out the best in her.

My aunt was a deeply unhappy person. Heroin made life more tolerable for her. Until she couldn't tolerate life without it. Until she'd do anything, anything, to get her next high.

A lot of addicts are addicts because they are self-medicating for something else and their drug of choice has chemical properties that makes their brains crave it more. If you fix the "deeply unhappy" part, you create a healthier environment for that addict to take control over their life again. Without it, they are far more likely to continue to relapse.

Knowing this, why would I then want to add the threat of prison and jailtime- life-ruining things themselves- to an addict's list of concerns?

Look up rat park sometime. In the rat paradise, drugged water was freely offered, and occasional a rat here or there would take a hit or two, but rarely enough to even get high and almost never habitually. Addiction literally didn't exist even though the rats were taking addictive substances. But the rats in cages, seperated from each other, with no enrichment, crammed into small spaces and stressed to hell? Those rats took hit after hit after hit until they overdosed and died. The addict rats were deeply unhappy. The drugs were their only escape. The paradise rats had to be lured in with sweetened drugs to even consider and even then they rejected them. The caged rats did not need sweetner, even though the drugs made the water bitter.

If we can see such a stark difference in rats having their needs met vs rats experiencing isolation and stress, what would happen if we showed human addicts the same consideration?

I think a lot better results than continuing to jail deeply unhappy and desperate people for doing the only thing they can think of to cope.

[elisabethdeep-blog]

Gotta make a post about my best DunMeshi neurospicy boi

Lotta content out there about Laios' autistic traits but where o where is the Senshi rep?

Senshi's dedication to Dungeon trophic systems makes Laios' special interest look like a well-thumbed pamphlet. (Granted Senshi has had significantly longer to cook; Laios is a baby).

Senshi's limited emoting is baked-in to his character model- that thousand yard stare, most of his face occluded by his habitual helmet (masked, even...... How many folks pine for covid masks obviating the need to manage their faces constantly?)

He overheard someone mention his special interest and Walked Right Up to a Group of Strangers to brazenly asplain them a thing. Marcille makes a bridge-mending bid regarding the mosses in the scorpion hotpot (after her previous truculent outbursts) and he totally deadpans her, because he didn't even notice.

He is VERY COMMITED to his ethical position on dungeon ecology. More than once he's disrupted Marcille Right at the point of release of a spell, after she's been chanting for like a paragraph, because she's going to contravene some principle of his.

Also

Speaking of Marcille, he demonstrates some pretty rigid, black-and-white thinking around magic, that doesn't seem internally consistent. He's repeatedly reanimating magical constructs (golems), an explicitly controlled magical act, but is Very Very reluctant to submit to being charmed with WaterWalk; his spoken reasoning about this just doesn't hold water.

Oh and he's totally neglected his personal hygiene for basically ever. He's averse to cleaning up for the sake of being bespelled, but other than magic, seems fine with getting the salon treatment. This isn't a Toph Beifong 'protective layer of earth', he's just forgotten to care about not being covered with monster gore.

PDA? The fellow has one (1) social skill, namely, he exercises any discretion on opening his mouth to argue. But that holds him back exactly NONE when he decides he's done listening. The first time we see this is gathering Mandrakes, when he doesn't SAY he's done with Marcille's opinions, but he Does just go ahead and exercise his damn autonomy. a MUCH stronger example is when Chilchuck is guiding them through the trap rooms. Senshi gets roundly (and rightly!) chewed out by Chilchuck, and his response isn't the sensible 'sorry Chilchuck, maybe I could walk more directly behind you so I can more closely match your steps', but to BRAZENLY DANCE ALL OVER THE TRAP FLOOR! the only reason that doesn't kill the whole party is The Plot. It's not even that he doesn't appreciate Chilchuck's skill- he just don't like getting chastised! Same with Anne the Kelpie! Senshi's gonna do what Senshi's gonna do! He WILL not be rushed, he WILL not be chastised, he WILL not be directed! How do we think he came to be living in a dungeon all by himself in the first place!!

AND THE BREAD!

THIS IS NOT THE DEMAND OF A NEUROTYPICAL DWARF

Look there's more. After Chilchuck's impassioned and heartfelt plea, Senshi suggests they should return to the surface because they're 'low on seasoning'.

He's a dwarf who turned his adamantium shield into a cookpot.

He can meticulously maintain his mithril cooking knife but not his axe.

He responds well to other characters meeting him halfway but initiates few (no?) such bids himself. There's rarely any guile in Senshi, and when he is being shifty, he's Bad At It- and again, usually its in service of demand avoidance, like when he capitalises on Marcille's toilet break to reanimate his golems.

Senshi is the monomaniac that society has spent Decades trying to iron out of my wrinkly brain.

I hope to see him also find a place in the neurosparkly constellations.

[moonstruckme]

Lavender

I liked this better as an idea than I do now that it's written, but here it is anyway

summary: after Sirius has a hard day, you try to help him relax

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

When you hear the front door to your shared apartment open and shut, your physical reaction is both immediate and habitual. You get a rush of dopamine and straighten in your seat, not quite looking up from your book but not able to tamp down the smile that tempts your lips upwards either. 

Sirius Black is a fairly spontaneous creature, but every day after he gets off work, it’s the same: he comes straight to your room, sighing in exaggerated exhaustion and relief, says something along the lines of “there you are, gorgeous” or “I missed you today, sweet thing” or “can’t I stick you in my pocket and keep you with me all day, angel?” and rains kisses upon every part of you he can get at. 

But now, ten seconds go by, and you’re still waiting for his usual melodramatic entrance. Twenty seconds. At thirty, you leave the bedroom to investigate.

The house is eerily quiet, and for a moment you wonder if you’d imagined the sound of the door, or if it might have come from one of your neighbors. Then you spot Sirius, lying on the couch with his shoes still on and his arm slung across his eyes. Your heart plummets. 

“Siri?” you say quietly, afraid to disturb him in case he doesn’t want company. “Are you okay?”

Sirius lets out a long breath, and this exhaustion isn’t for show. “Sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “I’m alright. Just had a really, really long day.” 

You crouch beside his face, feeling like you could cry but knowing that wouldn’t be very helpful. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

He moves his arm so you can see the apology in his eyes. The gray irises are unusually dull.  “Not really,” Sirius says, imbuing his tone with as much gentleness as he can. His kindness, when he’s so obviously miserable, makes your chest ache. “Honestly, I just want to go shower and wash this day off me.”

That gives you an idea, and you smooth his hair away from his cheek, pressing a kiss there. “I’ll do you one better,” you promise, cheered at the opportunity to help restore your boyfriend to his usual jovial temperament. “Just give me a minute.” 

You go into the bathroom and turn on the tub, getting the water to a comfortable temperature before adding your lavender bath oils, hoping the scent will provide the same calm for Sirius as it does for you. And some bubbles, just because you know he’ll think they’re fun. After some more thought, you light a few candles, too. You want everything to be as conducive to relaxation as possible after the day he’s had. 

“Okay,” you call to Sirius. “You can come in.” 

You hear the padding of too-heavy footsteps, and then, “If you’re trying to seduce me, gorgeous, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” 

You turn, feeling your face warm. Sirius grins at you, seeming to have recovered some of his good humor. “Right.” You roll your eyes, flustered, and Sirius switches gears. 

“This is for me?” he asks softly. “Thanks, angel.” 

You beam, because this is how you love him most; when he meets you all the way, unchecked in his softheartedness. 

Sirius isn’t one to be embarrassed and you’re well used to each other by now, so neither of you make a fuss as he strips down and eases into the warm water. You watch him relax slowly as his body adjusts to the temperature, admittedly feeling rather pleased with yourself. Rather than letting him lay his head back on the hard edge of the tub, you cradle it in your hands, ignoring the way his eyes raise to yours in question. 

You take your lavender-scented shampoo, beginning to lather it in Sirius’ thick, dark hair. 

He murmurs, “Are you washing my hair for me?” like it’s a joke, but you only hum in confirmation, and he goes silent after that. 

You take your time, letting your fingers work over every inch of Sirius’ scalp before moving to the nape of his neck. His muscles are taut there, but you knead at them tenderly until the tightness eases away and Sirius is pliant in your hands, finally letting the entire weight of his head rest on you. By now, most of the tension has melted from his features. 

He opens his eyes when you begin rinsing the shampoo from his hair with a cup of water, running your fingers through it to work out the few tangles. Neither of you seems to want to disturb the quiet, the tranquil atmosphere that’s settled in the humidity of your bathroom, and so Sirius’ voice is uncharacteristically hushed when he says, “You’re too good to me. How do you always know what I need?”

“Sixth sense,” you whisper back. “And you deserve every bit of good.” You say the words lightly, an admonishment against his self-deprecation, but you mean them. Deeply. Sirius has already experienced enough of the bad things in this world; if you could cast a spell to ensure that only happiness and comfort would find him for the rest of his life, you would. But until that becomes an option, you’ll do whatever you can to help him cope with his rougher days. 

Sirius smiles at your response, eyes pitch-black and sparkling in the candlelight. “Yeah? Think you could give me one of these massages every time I get off work?”

You smile at him, knowing your eyes are probably embarrassingly heart-shaped and not caring at all. “Every night, handsome.” You mean that, too.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

what do you think the chains favorite breakfast foods are (if they eat breakfast)

I WAS HALFWAY THROUGH ANSWERING THIS AND MY PHONE DIED AND DELETED EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN, DEATH AND SORROW AND DESPAIR.

Okay I'm good now.

ANYWAYS, I split you ask into two sections: first, their favorite food ever if they can get their hands on it, the second what they like to eat on the road. And then a final unhinged rant at the bottom about the one thing about teenage boys/young men and their food that I'll never understand: Bacon.

Legend--I have a feeling that he likes sweets. Specifically, waffles with whipped cream and berries. They're a little burnt, but Ravio made them for him, so he'll pretend he doesn't notice (and grows to like them better that way). On the road, he'll go for coffee/tea (he's not picky) if one of the others make it, or nothing at all.

Hyrule--does he have a favorite breakfast food? Food isn't very stable where he comes from--Legend and Wild would spoil him so much in regard of expanding his palate. But I imagine that something like a fried mixture of beef/sausage, vegetables, and a starch (perhaps an even poorer version of an already poor person food Shepherd's Pie, perhaps? it could be a breakfast food) would be a sort of filling, tasty, and easy to procure/make/preserve food that he'd like. On that note, I would say something simple, easy to get and preserve, and hardy would be his go to breakfast on the road--maybe meat jerky.

Wild--Also a sweets person. Fruit cake, cinnamon rolls, frosted cupcakes, basically all the little delicacies he could get at a dumb party 100 years ago, he ain't picky, it's for breakfast and it's fueling a day long sugar high. On the road he, unlike the other Links, can be pretty creative with his breakfasts, and he likes his spice as well. So, I think he'd like Meaty rice balls.

Four--direct this question to someone else please. He has four voices in his head fighting to answer right now, and none of them agree. I surely dont know if he doesn't.

Time--Pancakes and farm-fresh scrambled eggs and toast with jam. Malon makes it for him. What can I say. On the road he is a habitual coffee drinker, he wouldn't be functioning in the mornings without it. But he'll also take a poached egg if he has the time (heh).

Warrior--unlike Time who is a habitual coffee drinker, he is a coffee connoisseur. He likes the breakfasts they serve at the castle--a lot of meats and fruits, expensive, and on top of it all, well plated. Not to say that he can't eat simply--he was in a war, mind you--just that he prefers not to. On the road, he strikes me as the kind that would drink those tasteless quick oats (y'know you just add water, shake and go?) and also be very vocal about much time (heh) it's saving him (being none). I don't know what the Hyrule equivalent of those are.

Twilight--our favorite country boy. I think he likes a true southern breakfast. Ham and pan-fried potatoes and eggs over-easy, with a side of cheesy grits and sausage biscuits and gravy like Uli used to make for him (I HC this man has a black hole of a stomach, out of all the Links). On the road he'll inhale a boiled egg or two (salted and peppered if he's feeling fancy) that Wild made for him. I also head canon that Twilight likes tea with an intensity. And not only sweet tea, but like, ALL of the teas. He gets obsessive. I literally have in my detail/subplot tracking documents for BDOR the following entry underneath chapter 8--Tea: "Twilight’s cure to Wild’s voice is tea. His cure to life’s woes is tea."

Wind--whatever his grandma is making, probably with seafood involved. I've had a crab-spinach-egg casserole for breakfast before, it was good, so I'll give him that. On the road, I can see him packing a lot of bread and some meat (dried fish if he can get it).

Sky--This guy honestly has me stumped. Do those on Skyloft eat Loftwing eggs, or are they considered taboo? They have a lot of pumpkins around--do they incorporate them into their meals?@needfantasticstories you know a lot of Skyward Sword lore, bequeath me your wisdom. Anyways on the road he's a meat and bread person like Wind. Practical.

Now, for my rant about young men and their food quirks:

Bacon. Bacon, as I have witnessed, drives the most reasonable of men insane.

I just a few things to say about this. I have younger brothers, and I born witness to many male sleepover parties. I--as the resident nasty fe-male XD--have been (forced) to cook for them in the mornings. Set a pile of bacon in front of them (or really any meat, but I have found that bacon has the strongest affect) and they turn into WOLVES. They start to crowd around and stare as soon as they begin to smell it (which hey, give me space in the kitchen, please!), snatch it up before the grease even cools, and then retreat into their separate corners of the living room/kitchen and scarf it down, all while avoiding eye contact and projecting just how much they don't care about the bacon they're eating (perhaps so one of the others don't take notice and try to steal it). There's an odd little ritual/rules to the thing, too: for example, it's frowned upon to take more than three or four pieces at a time, there has to be enough for everyone, obviously; but if you finish a second and third serving before some poor sod stumbles in and gets himself a piece--why that is acceptable, even encouraged. But at all times, you could feel them watching each other, judging whether each person had taken acceptable amounts. 6 at once, I have determined, is veritably considered too much, as I have watched an entire group of mid-late teenage boys chase another through the house and outside for this crime of greed. Another thing was the presence of literally any other edible food. If there was anything else--eggs, fruit, even something like a few slices of unbuttered toast or coffee or juice sitting out, this reaction was largely tempered--even if none of the boys took the other foods, they would take a meager one or two pieces of bacon and be satisfied, perhaps reassured that other food was present and their hope of a filling breakfast was not in vain. Most, at that point they would restrain themselves from eating anything (other than their bacon tax) and wait so that everyone could eat together. But the mad scramble that occurs when there is bacon and only bacon in the kitchen (even if other things are cooking, nearly done, and visible to them) is otherworldly.

I never saw it with anything else, not eggs, not fruit, not even sausage or any other breakfast food. And it must be noted that I was exempt from their little ritual of judgement--perhaps as the only woman, or perhaps as the cook, I was allowed to take as much bacon as I liked from the pile, once the initial wave had attacked and retreated with their bounty (and the strips of bacon had cooled enough that mortal human hands such as my own could pick them up). And while they behaved like beasts, I was always very politely thanked for making breakfast once it was over and the frenzy had abated.

Anyways, your ask got me thinking about Malon making a pile of bacon for the boys, activating the beforehand undiscovered "PANIC! BACON!" mode in their brains, and just being utterly confused as they turn into animals. Just the boys descend, and then a few shouts of "Thanks, Malon!" drift in on the wind as they scatter like racoons with treasure, leaving an empty plate spinning behind them.

[kedreeva]

I work in a whole foods supply store, and one of our customers is a lovely old lady who lives out on a rural property, way beyond the city limits.

A pair of peacocks have nested and made babies at the edge of her land (two clutches so far this year), and she has taken it upon herself to feed them, so she comes to us to buy food - seeds, chopped nuts and dried fruits.

I know she means well, but she says the babies now come to her door to 'beg' for food, which means they're habituating, so I feel like she's doing them more harm than good.

If you knew of someone doing this, would you leave them to it, or try to dissuade them? Also, is the food I described above actually okay for peacocks?

She says the peahen is a bright, beautiful, unblemished white, which I thought was quite rare? She is going to bring me photos on her next visit...

Unless you're in India, they're not habituating because they're not wild animals, they're feral domestics. If they're hanging around and being fed, congrats, she's got free range peafowl. It's free birds!

As for the mix, I would cut out the nuts. Fruits are fine but they don't really like citrus and they shouldn't have avocado. Fresh fruits are better than dried, dried concentrates the sugars and doesn't provide any hydration. If she'll listen to you, tell her you have a friend that breeds peafowl and that they suggested better treats would be live mealworms or superworms, dubia roaches, farm-raised hornworms, or mouse pinkies. They also like fish (at least feeder fish, but possibly also larger fish they can pick apart) and meats. They can be given veggies, but they don't rip things apart the way chickens do their beaks are not as able to tear into hard things, so veggies should be chopped small. They will happily rip up greens or melons that are cut open though. Banana too! They love banana and berries.

Black oil sunflower seed and safflower are good seeds, limit corn intake. No beans allowed except refried ones. Planting clover in her yard will be a good source of nutrient-rich greens (and good for bees!).

But honestly, a good high-protein dry chow with some water added fresh to it will provide a lot of benefit, just as much attention, and probably be cheaper since you can get 50lb for like $20. I use Belstra 28% turkey starter crumble from a local feed mill. It may not look as interesting but my birds get a LOT of varied treats and chow mash is one they'll eat every day without any hesitation, and leave nothing behind. The only other treats that is true for are bugs and farmer's helper golden egg nugget treats. Even peanuts they have turned their noses up at a couple of times.

As for the white color, it's not that rare. A lot of people don't like to keep them because they get dirty easily and because colored birds often HATE them. Hens often won't mate with them if they can see other males, and males often attack or attempt to chase off white hens. In the wild, a white animal draws attention and opens the flock to predation.

[romirola]

Headcanons for the Shaw Pack’s Favorite Carnival Activities and Foods

David: David’s favorite activity at a carnival is the Ring Toss. He knows that most games are rigged, but somehow, David always manages to excel at that game. He strikes the perfect balance of strength and finesse. When asked which prize he’d like, David always lets Angel pick something out for him because (since their mating), Angel suggests that they donate the stuffed animal they selected to the pups’ room in the Shaw Pack den, so lots of kids can enjoy. Their mere idea of using the prize for the young pups makes David’s heart melt. As for his go-to fair food? Fried dough with a generous sprinkle of sugar. There’s no such thing as nutritious fair food, and frankly, if there were, David would not want to touch it. After all, it’s not often that he goes to a carnival. While he’s there, he might as well enjoy and indulge!

Angel: Angel is a big Bumper Cars fan. They love to get behind the wheel and take down anyone and everyone they can. No one is safe from their bumper-car road-rage, even (especially) the pack. After their victory, they will track down a sausage sandwich with grilled onions and peppers to celebrate. 

Asher: Asher always looks forward to the Scrambler ride, because no matter how hard he tries, the pattern of movement always confuses him, which is what excites and thrills him. He habitually orders a large plate of nachos with every kind of cheese (or ‘cheese-product’) to share with the pack. Not only does Asher love nachos, but he also enjoys letting his friends have a bite. A bonus, his friends will usually let him sneak a bite of their food as repayment, meaning Asher gets to sample the whole carnival.  

Babe: Babe does not do rides because they get horrible motion sickness. They do, however, love playing all the games. Their favorite game to play is the Water Shooting Game, because they always do well. Since Babe saves money by not going on the rides, they are able to play almost every game and usually return home with many prizes of all sizes. Their favorite food to eat is caramel corn, because it’s somehow always better when eaten at a carnival than at home.

Milo: Milo makes a beeline for the Strongman Game whenever he attends a fair. He makes the bell ding every time, much to the surprise and chagrin of the employees. In fact, once, after Sweetheart declared that a stuffed gray wolf plush (which happened to reflect Milo’s own wolf form) was the cutest, best prize of the whole fair, Milo made it his mission to win. The plush, named Hammer, now resides on Milo’s and Sweetheart’s bed. (In fact, this is a headcanon I developed and discussed in an old fic, Cross My Heart.) Afterwards, Milo is hot to trot to get his hands on a nice, hot, salted soft pretzel. It’s filling, delicious, and quintessential to the fair experience. 

Sweetheart: Although one might expect Sweetheart to enjoy funhouses or horror houses, their favorite carnival activity is actually the Carousel. They walked up and down to seek out the perfect horse, ideally one with unique markings and/or close to the outer edge so that they can wave to their friends on each rotation. Sweetheart never leaves a carnival without eating a candy apple. They can’t resist the sweet treat, and love how convenient it is on a stick.

Darling: Darling adores a session in the Photo Booth. They ask (or sometimes, force) each of their friends to take a few pictures with them. Darling is a master at posing, always ensuring they get a wide range of shots showcasing all the fun they have. After the fair, Darling will copy the photos, keeping one set for themselves and giving the other one to the person. Having a physical reminder of the fun memories is so meaningful to Darling, especially if they begin to feel loneliness creep in. While at the fair, they usually opt for a corndog slathered in mustard. They have a very strong stomach. 

Sam: Sam may be reluctant about crowds, noise, and being forced to convert your money into ‘tickets’ to hide how expensive everything, but even he enjoys a slow ride on the Ferris Wheel. It’s a beautiful opportunity to see all the stars above and all the hustle-and-bustle below, especially when it’s Darling sitting next to him in the seat, holding his hand in theirs. Ever one with a sweet tooth (or sweet fang, rather), Sam usually gets a hot fudge sundae to eat, savoring each spoonful. 

BONUS!

Gabe: A bit of an adrenaline-junkie, Gabe always enjoyed the Roller Coaster. David clearly heard the familiar howl in his father’s voice as he dropped from the apex. Gabe always opted for french fries when it was his turn to order, but in reality, it was his job to eat whatever anyone else ordered and didn’t like or couldn’t finish. It was a job at which he performed efficiently. 

Marie: Marie never leaves a fair without getting her face painted. She usually asks for a wolf. Her favorite food is the pack of sandwiches she smuggled into the fair by hiding them in her large purse, because fair food is too greasy, too expensive, and (probably) prepared with too many health/cleanliness violations for her to even think about putting it in her mouth.

[angelsanarchy]

Tangerine Skies: Possum x Y/N Series CH 3

Tagging: @svgarcaine @icarus-star @romanroyapoligist @tempt-ress @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @liquidsmoothdomme @auggiethecreator

Possum and Y/n have been co-habituating for almost two weeks before she found him stripping down outside smelling his shirt.

"Possum? Everything okay?" She asked curiously.

"Apparently not." He continued to strip down.

"What's going on? Why are you getting naked out here? It's not that warm." She felt the chill in the air.

"The convenience store told me I couldn't come back until I didn't stink. I was offending patrons." He shrugged.

"So what's the plan here?" She held onto her coffee mug as Possum kicked his shoes off to remove his socks.

"I usually just air out the clothes for a day. That will buy me some time." Possum had started taking his belt off and Y/n finally walked towards him.

"Okay that plan sucks. You can use the shower in the RV and I'll toss your clothes in with mine. I can do laundry a day early." Possum froze hand hovering over his belt buckle.

"Really? I'm pretty dirty. I'd hate to make a mess." Possum looked surprised by her offer but she rolled her eyes.

"Do you have a set of clean clothes?" Possum shook his head.

"Okay, leave all of your dirty clothes on the picnic table with those pants. I'll start the shower and find you something to wear." She left the door of the RV open and turned the knob for hot water so it would be warm by the time Possum walked in. She didn't have a ton of extra clothes but she did have a large pair of sweatpants.

"Okay I might have to-" Y/n froze hearing Possum enter, turning to see he was completely naked.

"Um...alright. We could have left our underwear on." She blushed trying not to stare. He was thin but the definition he had from his hips only served to draw her attention to his happy trail that lead to a dark bushel of pubes. If there was one thing she wouldn't have suspected of Possum, it was that he would have a large cock. It hung uninterested to about the middle of his thigh with a thick head. He had dirt on his legs and a few cuts on his shins.

"I don't wear underwear." Possum said without hesitation. Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head.

"S-sorry. Um...the shower is ready." She held up the towel and sweats, putting them on the table adjacent to the shower. Possum walked past her and she felt him graze against her. She blushed so hard that she took off out of the RV to get started on his clothes.

She ended up wearing rubber gloves to wash his clothes, mostly because they were crusty as if he hadn't washed them in a good month. She could understand why the store manager told him he couldn't come in. She listened for the shower to turn off and got lost in the thoughts of what fucking Possum would be like. Would he be a rough fuck or slow and sweet? In conversations with him, he seemed calculated yet at a slower pace. She knew it was the drugs but she liked their time together.

She couldn't help but think about the last time she actually had sex. It wasn't with someone whose cock could serve as a limbo stick and it certainly wasn't slow paced. She remembers getting herself in the car on the way home swearing to herself that she would stop hooking up on the road. It had been months.

"Can I help?" Possum appeared behind her now wearing the sweat pants and the towel over his shoulders, hair sopping wet.

"Jesus! I'm going to get you a bell to put on. You're too silent when you move." She knew it was more her fault being lost in thought and not his sneaky movements.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." He put his hand on her arm.

"No no I was thinking-

"About me naked." Y/n blushed.

"W-what?" She questioned but he shrugged.

"It's okay. I like to be naked. I don't mind you staring at me naked. I've been told I have a noteworthy cock but I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." He was very nonchalant about his naked body.

"It's a good thing. It's a very good thing." She laughed.

"I didn't mean to stare. I haven't see a naked man in a bit." Possum's eyes went wide.

"Really? I could take these off-" His hands moved to the top of the pants and she grabbed them to stop him.

"Possum! Work with me here! If you're naked, I will be too distracted to hang your clothes." She laughed and he smiled.

"Okay then I will keep them on." He walked over to assist with hanging the clothes and she shook her head.

"Hold on." She took the towel from around his neck and put it over his head to dry his hair a bit more.

"I have a hairdryer under the sink if you want to use it. You can't just walk around with soaking wet hair or else you'll get sick." She explained with his head hidden under the towel. When she moved it off his head, she could see him smirking at her.

"What?" She asked returning the smile.

"I feel like Pretty Woman." He said proudly.

"You feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?" She laughed.

"Yeah...thank you for taking care of me and hanging out with me. You don't even have to pay me, I want to hang out with you." His smile spread wider and his cheeks blushed.

"Go grab the blanket off my bed so you don't catch a chest cold, Vivian." She teased.

"You know, Pretty Woman is one of my favorite movies." She called to him as he walked back onto the RV.

"No way! That's my mom's favorite movie. She made me watch it with her every Saturday while we had Crunch." He emerged with the thick blanket over his shoulders, he held it to his chest.

"Crunch? You mean Brunch?" She questioned.

"Um no we wouldn't have the money to go out so we would have breakfast for lunch on the couch. Crunch for couch brunch." Possum's explanation was sweet.

"That sounds really nice." He finally stood next to her, holding the basket of wet clothes while she removed them to hang on the line.

"Yeah I miss her...my mom. I think about going back East all the time." Possum admitted.

"You should. I'm sure she misses you too." She smiled at him. The fell in a comfortable silence for a few moments before he finally spoke up.

"You would make a terrible prostitute." Possum said matter of factly.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" She couldn't help but laugh.

"You're too nice. You just give things away." He smiled. She could think of a few things she would give to Possum, no questions asked.

[velvetcloxds]

could I get an if you're too shy with rick grimes and fluff for when you two come across a house with working water and some domesticity in the house please?

PLAY PRETEND | R.G.

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions long hair that could be braided- I don't mention the hair type or specifics to the way it's braided so it's really just the length that's specific

You never imagined that something so mundane, so absolutely routine could feel so odd. You were watching yourself carefully, taking it all in from where you sat on the floor of the bedroom, you were clean, alarmingly clean- if you stared at yourself long enough you could pretend this was normal, pretend it hadn't been months since you had a second to sit still, see yourself in a mirror, bathe. But it wasn't normal at all and the reflection wasn't entirely familiar either, you could hardly recognize yourself.

"Look at you," Rick breathed from behind you, startling you for just a second before you saw him, the same odd feeling crossing your mind at the sight of him all cleaned up, it was honestly the first time ever and it was certainly a lovely change- if you weren't already completely smitten with the man, the sight of him standing there shirtless wearing a clean pair of grey sweatpants certainly would've done it.

"Look at you," you breathed, smiling when he sat down on the bed behind you, a soft kiss placed on the top of your head as he dragged his eyes over you, slowly, slow enough to make heat rush to your cheeks- it was a familiar look, one he'd never stop himself from giving you no matter the situation you found yourself in- but just like everything else, it was different, intoxicatingly so.

"Now, I always knew you were gorgeous," he began, hands falling to your shoulders, squeezing lightly. "But I don't think I've seen you like this before."

"Clean?" you teased, hands folding over his, leaning back against his knees, folding your legs under you.

"Calm," he countered and you scoffed, he wasn't wrong, not entirely at least, moments like these were rare, almost nonexistent, and still it was fleeting, the security you had wasn't real, not for long at least but it was refreshing to pretend that it was, to pretend that the night would go without any trouble and tomorrow was a promise even if it wasn't, it never was. "I think we should take advantage of it," he suggested and you smiled, a habitual thing, something only he could earn so easily.

"I think we should check on the kids," he tutted at that, shaking his head in dramatic disapproval as his fingers slid into your hair, already separating the strands into three, he'd learned to braid your hair a few months after you became whatever your relationship was, hoping the little gesture would somehow take off the pressure of a day fighting the dead- really it was just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you, feel you against him, an innocent notion but it was worth more than you knew in the world you were caught in.

"We've got a babysitter," he informed you and though Michonne would likely not appreciate the title you were grateful for the time with him. "We've also got a bed," he suggested and you scoffed again, giving him a knowing look as he shrugged, simply finishing your braid, and he was kind in pretending not to notice the way you watched him through the mirror, appreciating everything about him, just in case, always just in case.

"Rick," you breathed after a minute, just in time for him to finish and look up at you expectantly, eyes softening at the serious pull to your face. "Do you think one day this could be forever?" the question made you feel small, silly, it was something you knew the answer to, something you shouldn't want for when it went against everything that you knew but still, he could tell you were hopeful and seeing you like this made him feel the same. He slid down to the floor behind you, pulling you against his chest, letting you melt into his arms, an answer in itself. "Can we pretend that it could be?"

"Close your eyes," he agreed and you obliged, you hadn't played this game in forever, didn't get to be in his arms simply to be there in forever. "Where are we?"

"Home," you mumbled, pulling at his fingers to wrap them around your stomach, he breathed a laugh, breaking the rules by opening his eyes, and kissing the back of your neck.

"Where's that, sweetheart?"

"I don't know yet," you shrugged, but you knew, the simple and more cliche answer was that home would be wherever he would be, because home wasn't a place anymore, hasn't been for a long time, it was simply him- all of him. "But you're there and we're not running and when we're cuddling it's not because we're sleeping on the ground and I'm freezing," you giggled lightly, opening your eyes too.

"It sounds perfect."

"It is," your tone was sad, defeated despite how hard you tried to fight it. "But right now I got you and the kids," you thought out loud, turning around against him, basically in his lap as each of his hands circled one of your arms. "I don't mind if the rest is just playing pretend."

"I'll make it real," it was a promise he couldn't keep, but he wasn't going to deny you of it, he wasn't going to leave you without the hope he'd lost long before he met you, you deserved more, deserved to believe that this wasn't all there was left- he wasn't going to let you give up because he'd never give up trying to give you exactly that. "One day, I'll give you forever."

[echofromtheabyss]

Medium talk is worse than small talk and probably what we're all most afraid of

We all know Small Talk:

hi, how are you, nice weather, how about them (insert sports team here).

Small talk follows algorithms and a kind of ritual pattern. It's the kind of appropriate conversation level for interacting with retail workers in public, and total strangers.

We also all know Big Talk. (I'm only calling it that as the logical inverse implied by Small Talk.) Which is basically where a high degree of familiarity is assumed. A common ND fuckup is conversing in conversational modes that, to many of the general population, are reserved for high familiarity. Either in terms of talking at length about a topic (which I feel is something that was actually more socially acceptable in the past, but has become broadly unacceptable over time; this was NOT really part of a diagnostic category in the 70s) or in terms of overfamiliarity/not being at the right level of social distance from the person for the thing you're talking about.

Most people rely on lots of context cues that inform how they will hear what the other person is saying, and those context cues may not be there for a near-stranger. All they're left with is the most uncharitable possible assumption about your intentions.

So with this in mind, this leaves me with the WORST conversation category, that nobody acknowledges, because we're stuck on Small Talk and Big Talk:

Medium Talk.

You actually need something in common with the other person or something you relate to, to really successfully do Medium Talk. Small talk can be done with total strangers you're never going to see again, and Big Talk can cut past a lot of stuff; I don't need every social belongingness or ideological thing or hobby in common with my family members, or other people in a high-trust relationship with me, to have a meaningful conversation with them.

Medium Talk is actually where a lot of the tripwires and landmines are.

People are making decisions to escalate or de-escalate here, and listening for loyalty indicators. You run the risk of keeping things superficial while missing an actual connectedness bid, or of being overly familiar - or getting too comfortable and offending/scaring the other person before they have any context for processing what you're saying to them.

Medium Talk is when you're moving from the Social Niceties, along the continuum toward Big Talk. You're dipping your toe in the water, moving toward the deep end.

Average to high social skills people will often throw out feelers about escalating the conversation. In the 90s, LGBT people would sometimes drop hints about some or other thing that only other LGBT people would know about, based upon some kind of context cue. There is ultimately some of this same dynamic going on with some forms of nerdy gatekeeping ("name one star war") albeit in a clumsy way.

But people do it all the time.

I think there is a tendency for some people to assume talk is 100% verbal while habitually ignoring the visual and relational context cues that are processed as communication. It's especially hard for people who *can't* process that information, but I think that there are lots of reasons some people end up just not learning to do it.

People often escalate small talk based upon presence of some kind of marker such as a nerdy enamel pin, or a sports jersey. This is what wearing tons of geek swag is actually all about. 70s-80s social skills guides and advice for single people, often advised having/carrying/wearing some kind of "conversation starter."

Once I learned about 70s/80s/90s gay hanky code, I realized that there was a lot of this going on in all kinds of ways and that people scan other people visually for various kinds of context cues for the escalation of small talk.

A big problem is getting too "real" too fast, and people in the Medium Talk Zone will commonly use celebrities, low-stakes fandom stuff, and the like as socially acceptable proxies for discussing their viewpoints while saving face. If you are still in a low trust space, then the problem with just blurting stuff out to another person is that they don't know you well enough to have any context for what you are saying.

Most people are processing a ton of context cues while you are speaking, besides the words you are saying. When still in a low trust zone, you are likely to be taken in bad faith. You saying the same thing that their friend said, is not being heard by their brains as actually the same thing.

Nor is your presentation of the project being heard by the boss as being the same presentation that is being given by the shinier co-worker who steals it from you.

Most people don't just process the information, they process *who is saying it* as a *necessary part* of that information.

And this is where Medium Talk is so dicey.

Small Talk? No problem. Most of us can do it on a good day and most of us do it without realizing how much we do it.

[justthoughts1310]

ATLA and Marvel have the same misogyny

So... I've finally made it to episode 8 of Netflix's Live Action ATLA.

This may be shocking for some of you, because I wrote a post about how Netflix ATLA is misogynistic a month ago, but now I'm back again.

I specifically want to talk about the absolutely ridiculous and bullshit feminist virtue signaling that we are habitually forced to endure.

The scene I am specifcally referring to is the scene in which Katara demands that Master Pakku let's her fight. Then all of a sudden, the camera pans to all of the healers in the Northern Water Tribe (the female water benders) who stand ready to fight.

Yet, despite their immense power, they are begging this old as man for permission, instead of just doing what needs to be done.

This scene is giving... stupid. It's giving the 999th Marvel movie that NOBODY freaking wanted... okay! Does anybody remember that scene from Avenger's End Game (of course you do), in which all of the female avengers assemble, and it's one female cameo after another? I have no idea who liked this scene, but I didn't. I HATED this scene! I thought it was tacky and cringe, and I didn't understand why I felt that way.

Then in the Marvels, there's this scene in which Captain Danvers gets knocked down, and then there's this sequence starting from when she was a little girl playing softball in which she gets knocked down and gets back up.

The whole thing is soooo cringe.

It's cringe because it's heavy handed. It feels like one of those inspirational quotes you put on your wall that says something stupid like "She believed she could so she did..." or "Shero" or "Herstory".

It feels like a moment in which the male writers were like, we got to make women feel seen, so let's stop the flow of the entire movie and series and whatever is going on and have this really stupid overproduced moment in which the women look like bad asses, before we hide the women back in the background and let the real heroes (the men) take over.

All of this despite the fact that in hindsight, of all of the avengers assembled there to fight Thanos that day (both male and female, alike), Scarlett Witch and Captain Marvel were the only one's canonically strong enough to stop Thanos. Yet, we can't have that, because a man needs to be the hero.

Like stop stealing women's W's. It happens all the time in shows like Naruto, in which the most powerful kunoichi will get caught up by the most stupid insignificant thing, so that a man can end up saving her and she becomes the damsel in distress.

The narrative of women can be strong but never as strong as men because men need to be the hero is weak and tired, tell a new story!!!

Especially, because it really isn't all that true anymore. After the industrial revolution and the boom of tech, women and men's physically strengths have become increasingly more similar for decades. Why, because very few people need to carry giant logs and chop down trees to survive anymore! You don't need to be swol to complete a spreadsheet.

I digress.

My point is what these scenes from ATLA and Marvel have in common. It's the reason why they are both cringe.

Men don't see women as women who are unique human beings with our own unique desires. Therefore, male writers force powerful female characters to embody male characteristics that appeal to men.

You know all that flexing and all the abs and the sweat and the thirst trap scenes of half naked men like Thor and Captain America (even the scene with Sokka in it). Do you think those scenes are for women? Well, they are not. They are for men. Men get hard-ons for these kinds of scenes, and these scenes are specifically created for men and the male gaze.

Then they try to extend this to female characters, to show that they are feminists. However, this completely ignores the female gaze and female motivation.

The scenes really are women quietly asking for permission (not really) and then men loudly given women permissions to stand out and be powerful, but only in a way that satisfies the male gaze. Which considering the fact that men are socially conditioned to like feminine or overly sexual women, I have no idea who these scenes appeal to!!!

Like bro... read a freaking book. Learn about history!!! Real history!!! Women do not need the permission of men to be powerful, intelligent, strong, tactful or ambitious. Women have already been all of these things since the dawn of time.

Therefore, women don't need weird cameos that break up the pacing of the story or scenes of little girls playing sports, getting knocked down, and getting back up to feel seen. Women and girls do not need to be convinced that we are powerful. We already know it. We've been working in the background for centuries while men have taken credit for our labors, efforts, and endeavors.

All we need is for men to get the hell out of our way! We can see it right now with education and employment. Ever since women were allowed to attend school, women have outperformed men in education is almost every subject (and men and women are at par with each other in Math and Science). Women are also out enrolling men in college 2:1.

So instead of giving women 5 minutes of permission to be powerful in movies and shows and embuing them with masculine characterists, write a compelling female character from the beginning of the show. Develop her character as a person, who has to deal with the unique intersectionality of being a woman. Don't make her whole personality being a woman.

And if you cannot, write a compelling female character, then get a woman to do it!

End Rant. Thank you for attending my TED Talk.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (35)

Author’s Note:  I had planned on delivering more this chapter, but the wordcount got a little out of hand and it made the most sense to stop it here. I’ll be working on the next chapter in advance so I can still write the good parts while my muse is present. For those that are still with me reading this story, I would suggest listening to Runaway by AURORA for Sakura’s pov in these chapters and Don’t Worry by Boon for Sasuke’s second pov. Special shouthout to my Optom husband who was happy to lend me his medical knowledge for this chapter. As always, let me know your thoughts. Thank you for your patience. I promise it will pay off. 

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34

Chapter 35: No Help Needed

Sakura’s trail was cold. Beyond their shared bedroom and her departing letter, there was nothing. Like a released bowstring, Sasuke had sprung forth into the night in the direction of the only detail he was certain about her plan: Tanigakure. He had plucked this detail from Mako’s memories like a healer digs out pieces of metal in a flesh wound. The physical toll of traveling nonstop overnight while chakra-depleted had cost the Uchiha, and he had been tempted several times to just pop another chakra pill into his mouth. However, he couldn’t risk taking it in case he came upon a situation where he would need it in combat. So, Sasuke had trudged through the sand all night, wrapping his hair and face with the black cloth of his turban, pulling the hood of his traveling poncho up and over his hair to better disguise himself; Sasuke didn’t want to even waste chakra on a simple transformation jutsu. He ‘had to be discreet,’ after all.

Sasuke arrived at the jagged mountainous ribcage surrounding Tanigakure the following evening, gaining entrance easily as an unrecognizable traveler in a world of peace. His eyes searched for any flash of pink and he stopped at every place he could think where Sakura might start her search for the organization bent on killing her: the hospital she made Sasuke stay at just so she could visit the medical facilities here, and even their old hotel room, but there was no sign of her. After hours of staking out with no word or sign, Sasuke cursed himself for not gathering more information about her plan from Kakashi before pursuing her. His inability to find even a trace of her just went to show that Sasuke was always a little too confident in himself and still found himself habitually underestimating Sakura’s skill. 

As the sun began to set, Sasuke wanted nothing more than to approach every single soul crowding the streets in the evening lantern-lit dusk and ask if anyone had seen her, but Sasuke couldn’t risk the suspicion it would rouse about his own identity. Who was he and why did he want to know? How did he know her and where could they find him if they did see her? He could already hear the questions and he didn’t want any rumors to make it to the leadership of this village. Discretion turned out to be a lot more difficult when you were panicking.

And so, Sasuke perched himself on the roof above a crowded izakaya, where many individuals were flocking to participate in nighttime drinking and he did the only thing he could think of: watch and wait for a word, a clue, the breath of her name or description between the boisterous laughter of intoxicated patrons. In the darkness of night, when the starlight outshone the dimming lanterns, Sasuke even became desperate for the crickets to sigh but a syllable of her name. But like everyone else, they gave him nothing. Sasuke released a frustrated sigh, adding another useless sound to the nightscape around him as he jumped down from the building, too restless to do anything but pace the streets and wonder how he ever ended up like this.  

.

.

.

Sakura fingered her dark hair in the reflection of the ink-stained water in the bucket at her feet. She scrubbed at the lingering residue of black dye running past her hairline and wrapped the towel in her hands quickly around her short hair. When Sakura heard the crack of the door, she flashed the woman who entered a quick grin. 

“You dyed it!?” the youngest girl of the group, Tabi exclaimed, falling to her knees beside Sakura with her hands covering her mouth. “But it’s your best feature! You would attract the attention of everyone!”

Sakura shook her head, wanting to say something along the lines of ‘that’s exactly the point,’ but she didn’t for the obvious reason of blowing her cover. And despite what she had told the headmistress of the bathhouse, Sakura didn’t plan on being here long—just long enough to gather the intel she needed in order to move into the next phase of her plan. 

“Mother will not be happy,” the girl stated, reaching over to finger a stray lock of jet that escaped from the bundle atop Sakura’s head. 

“Mother,” Sakura responded, using the same honorific for the headmistress, “will hopefully understand my reasons. I don’t want to stand out too much.” 

Tabi shook her head, saying, “Is it permanent? How long will it last? Will the steam from the bath ruin it?”

Sakura shook her head, grateful she could be honest with the young girl with at least one thing. “It should hold for a couple of days, if not more.”

“The sooner it fades back to rose, the better.” Tabi stated matter-of-factly, rising to move to the other side of the room that they shared to begin the evening ritual of preparing for the night’s work. 

Sakura copied her experienced movements, powdering her face while her hair dried, carefully concealing the purple diamond between her brows. Infiltrating this job had been easier than Sakura had anticipated given the reputation of difficulty in this line of work. Sakura had approached the headmistress as a ‘transfer’ from another establishment. Due to Tanigakure’s exclusive nature from the outside world, it was not difficult to acquire fabricated copies of the necessary paperwork indicating a ‘private transfer’ from another village, and Sakura easily produced the medical assessments of her health that was also required. It also didn’t hurt that Sakura’s coloring was considered rare and possibly desirable by some; in other words, she would be highly profitable. Sakura promised the headmistress a steep percentage for every patron she ‘pleased.’ Or would allegedly please. 

No, Sakura did not plan to violate herself in order to gain the information she was looking for. She had never stooped into this role before in all her mission activity, but Ino had once used the disguise in order to slip into minds of her targets more easily once she got them isolated and no harm could befall her body once she performed the jutsu. 

Sakura had only acquired empty leads since she had arrived in Tanigakure. All Sakura needed to do was assess, learn what she could from the right people, and transition into the next step of her plan. The infiltration was the easy part, but this next part was dangerous, and Sakura would have to tread so very carefully. 

“Why are you here, Tabi?” Sakura couldn’t resist asking, wondering how such a lovely girl ended up servicing despicable men at one of the secretive bath house locations in the shinobi world. “How did you end up in a place like this?”

Tabi eyed Sakura curiously for a second before laughing. “I could ask the same about you.” And then she didn’t talk to Sakura for the rest of the evening as they prepped for the night.

Sakura followed the other girls into the establishment, a building disguised as a common bathhouse in the front section, advertising the typical bathhouse amenities, but concealing the back half which included private baths and rooms. When a section of the wall slid back to reveal a dark sitting room, Sakura had to steal herself and conceal an inner cringe under the stares of the lounging men who were already expecting them in the luxury-style waiting room. Sakura never felt so disgusted in her entire life than she did in that moment under the predatory gazes of those who only sought to devour others and pleasure themselves. Sakura immediately found herself second guessing this step. Maybe this hadn’t been such a clever idea. But she had no other choice. The members of the organization had been able to conceal themselves in a “neutral” territory long enough to gain numbers and begin operation. To Sakura, this meant one of three things. The first and most unlikely option was that this anti-peace organization had managed to keep their activity low enough to avoid detection and that Tanikage was truly focused on other things. Sakura doubted this one. The village was simply too small to have as many members as Mako had claimed go undetected. Or there was a very real possibility that the Kage and Council were already aware and didn’t take action because powerful figures were involved, maybe even leadership, or they simply did not care.

When the door was shut behind them, Sakura watched the other girls disappear into the noisy room hazed with pipe smoke, making their way toward familiar patrons. Socialization seemed to be a part of the selection process, to intensify the excitement, and Sakura planned to take advantage of it. She held her breath as she navigated, walking up to Tabi who had already familiarly climbed into the lap of one of the younger men, apparently a returning patron of hers. 

“Is this a new friend,” the man drawled thickly through a handful of Tabi’s hair that he had twirled throughout his fingers and pressed to his mouth. 

At Tabi’s sudden wide-eyed expression at Sakura’s appearance, Sakura answered for herself, soothing Tabi’s fears in the same sentence. Sakura knew the look of someone who felt threatened by her presence, and Tabi was giving her a warning stare for approaching her patron. “Yes. Guta Hae, sir,” Sakura introduced with a bow. “I am new. Perhaps you could introduce me to any friends that you might be in company with.”

Around her, the socialization had already begun and men who had already found their women for the evening, began to mingle with their associates, the girls clinging to their arms like trophies. Several of them appraised Sakura from a distance, naturally curious at the new face. But Sakura wasn’t going to just be picked from the lot like a prized animal ripe for butcher. No. Instead, Sakura would be choosing amongst them in the form of an introduction, just as she had planned. 

Tabi nodded, exclaiming, “Yes. This is her first night so she doesn’t know anyone,” Tabi smiled back at the man who was running his hands possessively over her leg in the dim light around them as he debated whether this unexpected disturbance would be beneficial in some way, or if he should just whisk Tabi away to their private room. “Could you introduce her to some friends, Toka-san?”

“Hmm,” Toka smirked, “any favor for you, dear,” he murmured into Tabi’s hair. “If you’re willing to return it.” 

The words dropped into Sakura’s stomach to spoil like rotten food. This wasn’t good. Sakura didn’t want anyone to suffer anything personally from her meddling, especially not a woman as nice to her as Tabi had been. Just as she was fixing to retract her request, intent to say nevermind, Tabi was helping the man in the lounge chair to his feet, twirling his arm around her neck as they walked toward the crowd gathering in the back of the room. 

The haze grew thicker around the smoking men as they lounged against the shadow-cloaked walls, and Sakura bowed to them when Toka stopped and held out his hand smoothly for Sakura to take. Masking her face to conceal her repulsion, Sakura slid her fingers into Toka’s waiting palm and he held her hand above her head to spin her in a half pirouette in front of his curious counterparts. The way each of their eyes clung to different parts of her body had Sakura feeling like she might wretch. 

“Guta Hae,” Toka introduced, dropping her hand as if he were a gentleman. Sakura knew he was anything but. “She’s new here. Tabi asked that I introduce her to you all.”   

Sakura’s eyes fluttered as she feigned shyness, bringing her shoulders innocently up for a small second. 

There were exchanged smiles amongst some of the men as they debated their current choices, but Sakura’s eyes assessed them back, weighing her options and gathering what little intel she could gather from them. At the center of the pack, Sakura’s medical eye immediately located a man with his eyes tightly bound with bandaging. He was quiet as he tilted his ear to appraise her, solemn with two girls on each of his knees as he sat in one of the red, luxuriously tufted high-back chairs. And Sakura marked him as someone of little interest to her despite the initial surprise of his blindness. His injuries could mean several things, either good or bad for her purposes, but Sakura also could tell that whatever had happened to him had potentially wisened him, and Sakura didn’t need to approach that type of person. The fact that his injury potentially revealed his status as a former ninja, put him on Sakura’s radar; but, she also believed he might be worth investigating at a distance. Sakura’s eyes scanned over the rest of their smoking and laughing personas. 

“New in what way?” one of the men joked loudly as the rest of them snickered with shiny, interested eyes. “New here? Or…new, new?”

Sakura wanted to sneer at such a suggestive question, curl her lip and let her inner Sakura bleed through her teeth and down into her firsts. “I’m from the Land of Fire,” she revealed, weighing the various reactions to such a revelation. And several eyes flickered to her, assessing her differently. 

“The Land of Fire?” asked the loud man again as he crossed his arms. “Can’t be Konoha. I’ve never heard of such an establishment in the Leaf. Not recently, anyway.”

The others agreed around him, but Sakura didn’t reveal that answer. She had made her cast, throwing the lure out onto the smoke-infused water, dangling the bait in the crocodile faces of six influential men. By smiling and shrugging her shoulders and keeping the mystery of her origin concealed, Sakura was reeling in that line and establish her own draw.

Sakura moved toward the loud one, painting a saccharine grin on her face. He was going to be the one to spill secrets, Sakura could tell. He had a mouth on him like Naruto. “Are you familiar with Konoha?” Sakura asked him sweetly as she moved into his inner circle, receiving a glare from the woman on his arm. “I’ve never been to the Leaf, but had many patrons from there,” she continued. 

Before she even learned the man’s name, Sakura’s fingers were grasped carefully once again, the same application of force that Toka had just touched her with, and she was being tugged back around to face the group of men. The rougher man with the bandaging around his eyes had stood to retrieve her, reeling her in towards him as if she were the bait on the line. “Don’t waste your time on him. He’s a clown.”

Sakura’s instinctual reaction was to become solid, send chakra to her feet and become as immovable as her inhuman strength would allow her to be. It took her only a millisecond to resolve herself, to recommit to her plan, and Sakura became supple despite her annoyance with the man who felt too important to be overlooked by her. 

The two women who had once sat on his lap were gone and he replaced them with her, pulling her down to sit on his right knee. She still stiffened despite her resolve, realizing once again how dangerous the people were whom she was trying to play with. This guy was lucky, so incredibly lucky that Sakura’s purpose here was not to kill every single one of them. 

“I can tell you about Konoha,” he spoke lowly, a whisper as the conversation resumed around them, as he bent his head into her blackened hair. Sakura could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest as he said, “What is it that you want to know?”

Sakura couldn’t help herself. She turned her left shoulder into him to create more distance as she watched him carefully. “Are you from there?” she asked, wary that this man might be able to recognize her despite her careful disguise. 

“No,” he answered, “but I know several men who are.”

“Are you a ninja?” she questioned again, trying with everything in her to relax into this man’s embrace. Where their bodies touched, Sakura felt as if he were like a boiling acid, searing and burning at the connection points. 

“Have you been with a ninja?” he countered, and Sakura recognized his attempt to avoid answering the question. 

“Who do you think visited my previous establishment in the Land of Fire?” 

He chuckled, a mirthful laugh that lasted a little too long to make anyone comfortable. His next words sent an electricity through her blood. “What I wouldn’t give to see your face as you lie to everyone around you that you’re a sex worker like the rest of them.”

Her eyes grew wide as she checked to see if anyone heard what he had said. Most of the couples had already retired to their rooms, so Sakura forced her breathing into a steady cadence of ease and indifference. She turned to him slowly. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Her hand was taken lightly into his and she resisted the urge to snatch it back as he guided it to his cheek, splaying her fingers across the side of his head with his own as he grinned wickedly. “Your face was the last thing that I saw before I lost my vision. I’ll never forget the sound of your voice, Haruno Sakura.”

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When the door closed behind them, Sakura snatched her hand from the blind man who had lead her privately to one of the sauna rooms where extracurriculars were expected to take place. Sakura’s initial plan for this part was immediately interrupted. Pulling a kunai from her tightly-fitted silk attire, Sakura spun and pinned the mysterious man against the black wood of the closed door, kunai flush against the flesh of his throat. Beyond the slight tilt of his chin skyward, the man had no reaction. 

“Who are you?” she hissed, all pretenses and disguises temporarily dropped. 

The man chuckled against her blade. “It’s not surprising you don’t remember me. The battlefield of the war was so gruesome and so many men at your mercy, my face was one in a sea of millions.”

Sakura couldn’t help but think of Satou, Isao’s father, and Satou’s wife, whom Sakura had failed to save. Isao’s mother, too, had been one of millions. Sakura desperately searched for any recognition and came up blank. She remembered healing hundreds of visual injuries—this man had only been one of them. A heavy weight settled in her gut as she realized, that like all those others, his injuries had most likely been passed off to others because of the minority of them in comparison to those on the brink of dying. Severed appendages, organ damage, bleeding. Going blind was unfortunate, but not life threatening.  

Sakura asked the next obvious question. “Are you one of the people out to kill me?”

“Yes, actually.” He admitted and Sakura pressed the blade deeper, contemplating the pros and cons of killing him on the spot. “But,” he added lightly, avoiding the dipping of his throat against the bite of her kunai’s sharpness. “Since I was lucky enough to find you first, I will make you a deal.”

“Why should I even believe a word out of your mouth?”

“Because you have something that I want,” he answered, a hand coming up to grip her own. But he couldn’t move the fisted blade away because Sakura’s hand was as unmovable as steal as she no longer suppressed her immaculate strength. 

“And what is that?” she interrogated, unperturbed by his words. 

“Your abilities,” he smiled. “Heal my eyes completely, and I’ll help you.”

“I’ve been betrayed once already by a fellow member of yours,” Sakura revealed. “I won’t make the same mistake twice. Trusting you is the last thing I am going to do.”

Another chuckle reverberated up his chest like the swell of a wave in a turbulent ocean. “Then don’t trust me. But I am afraid that you have no other choice to work with me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because all of your friends are being watched carefully. And to your soon-to-be dismay, a certain Uchiha has been identified here within Tanigakure, and he is looking for you. The Zenshin’s plans for him aren’t a part of your plans, are they?”

Sakura’s kunai bounced as her hand shook in surprise at his words and it nicked his throat once before she steadied it. He hissed and pulled harder against her hand, but it still didn’t move. 

“He is here?” Sakura asked in a whisper, a myriad of paths of possibility spidering out from the revelation. Sasuke had followed her. Despite her wishes and despite Kakashi’s promises of keeping Naruto and Sasuke preoccupied, Sasuke had followed her. Not Naruto, but Sasuke. Even if it was out of concern for her, why? Why did he continue to doubt her abilities? Sakura pushed those feelings to the back of her mind as a new thought formed around the name of the organization that wanted to kill her and many others: Zenshin. To advance. Progression. The exact same word that Mako had declared to her in the desert wind only nights ago. She finally had the name. 

“Here and unsuccessful in his search for you, is what I have heard,” came the blind man’s sultry response in her face. “We knew you had to be close if he was here sniffing for you.” 

Damn it. Her plans were already starting to unravel. She was banking on the fact that they might not believe her brave enough to confront them, alone and in their own territory.  “On the off chance you’re actually telling the truth,” Sakura growled, “you lot are absolute fools to underestimate Sasuke. He and Naruto are singlehandedly the strongest shinobi to have ever walked this earth. He will mow you down just as Madara did to the shinobi alliance.”

“What about you?” he asked, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth despite the knife still secured against his flesh, nearly vibrating with the energy it was taking Sakura not to silence him permanently. “How strong are you?”

In the next movement, Sakura sheathed the weapon and relaxed her face into a smile of her own. “I am not far behind them.”

The blind man instinctively rubbed his neck where her kunai had been, smearing the pinpricks of blood there. “You’re lucky that even blind, my senses are sharper than my companions’,” he spoke, seriousness replacing the nervous humor of his previous persona. “By claiming you first, I have saved you from the lions you were prowling amongst just outside.” 

“Which ones in the sitting room are a part of ‘Zenshin’?” Sakura asked, and her eyes grew terribly wide at the next admission from his mouth.  

“Why, all of them,” he laughed once again. 

All of them? If the man had been able to see, he would have noticed that Sakura’s face had drained of all color. Sakura’s mental efforts doubled as she began to cross out steps of her plan and recalculate, following the conceptual intricate spiderweb of possible effects from each detour she could potentially plan for. 

He took a step toward her. “And all of them were already suspecting your identity the very minute Toka introduced you. I happen to be the only one present who has ever heard your voice. My actions to grab your attention will have interested them even more. I’ll have to explain what I did tonight. Your next move will determine the words that will come out of my mouth.” 

Sakura nodded, still silently assessing her options, before she said, “remove the bandage.”

The man hesitated, as if he was almost unsure if he wanted her to see what lie beneath. He only hesitated for a moment before fingering the white bandage. He walked toward her until he was only a few feet ahead of her. When the bandage slipped down to reveal his eye sockets, Sakura frowned at the unblemished nature of them. Not an external injury that could be healed, then. She had been hoping for cataracts or some other resolvable issue via procedure.

He flinched as she touched his temples, tilting his head back so Sakura could peer into them. She summoned her chakra to her fingertips and pressed exploratory chakra into them. He gasped at the invasion when her chakra made contact with his flesh, and his hand came up to grasp on to Sakura’s wrist.

“I’m only investigating the injury,” Sakura reassured him.    

“I know,” he frowned. “You did so once before. You told me there was little that could be done.”

Sakura nodded, feeling dread at her past self’s words. If she had not been able to heal them, she suspected no one could. Sakura suddenly recalled the shinobi war and Kakashi sensei, whose eye had been torn from his eye socket by Madara and then restored by Naruto, through his perfected Ying-Yang release through the sun seal given to him by Hagoromo. Naruto was not only able to restore Kakashi’s eye from nothing, but he had also been able to revive Obito after the extractions of the Ten Tales, and accomplish other grand healing feats during the war in the duration of which he had possessed the seal. Both Naruto and Sasuke relinquished their Sun and Moon seals when they sealed Kaguya. That sort of healing power was gone now. 

Sakura possessed and could control both Yin and Yang chakra due to her healing training under Tsunade and her natural affinity for genjutsus. Even with Sakura’s near perfect control of chakra, she could not use Yin and Yang simultaneously as Naruto had done with Hagoromo’s seal.  

“Are you able to see anything at all? Lights? Shadows? Shapes?” There was a big difference between being blind and being visually impaired. While others saw nothing but darkness, some could still make out some glimpses of their surroundings.  

“Nothing. Not since the war.”

Sakura frowned as she searched the eyes with her chakra. The eyes themselves were undamaged. The optic nerves intact. The retinas whole. They were clear in appearance, with startling dark irises. Black, like Sasuke’s. No clouding. There was only one possible cause left: brain damage.

Sakura frowned at how hopeless the situation was. “Do you have any pain?”

“No,” he answered. “Would pain be a good sign? That the body is trying to heal?”

Sakura winced at his train of thought. People often believed that pain meant the body was trying to repair itself, and that if there was no pain, it meant one of two things: the body was not damaged, or whatever healing was to be done was complete. This was not the case for many injuries. If he was experiencing pain, it might just indicate a different type of injury. Saying he had no pain was just strengthening Sakura’s suspicion.

Reaching to cup the back of his head, Sakura pushed her fingertips into his scalp. He winced at the contact. 

“Were you hit in the back of the head during the war? Is that how you lost your vision?”

He nodded, grinding down his teeth as she determined the truth he hadn’t offered freely. Brain damage was irreversible. Sakura could not create new pathways for nerves. She felt the dead-end her chakra reached after traveling down the optic nerves. The visual cortexes of the occipital lobe at the very back of the brain was no longer receiving signals from the eye. Sakura suspected that he probably had been told this by multiple healers and was hoping she would arrive at a different conclusion. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, feigning medical indifference to his injury. She wasn’t ready to reveal her deductions while he was still in the mood to answer her questions.

“You can call me Rugo. It’s what the others call me.” 

Sakura nodded, understanding why he wasn’t going to divulge his real identity to her. She decided not to ask what village he was from originally, which was going to be her next question. Tanigakure had been neutral in the war, and since he had allegedly fought in the war, he had either migrated here after the war, or he came to be a part of Zenshin mission, specifically. 

“How many members of Zenshin are ninja from other villages?” she questioned instead while she still had the opportunity. 

He hesitated for a moment, before admitting. “Most of them.” Sakura frowned at that. Just how many ninja had been unsatisfied with their lives after the war that they believed healing the grievances of the next generation stood in the way of progression?

“Is your vision loss why you joined Zenshin?” she asked boldly, trying her best to understand his particular motives. Something as significant as blindness could make the kindest of people bitter. If that was the source of his bitterness, Sakura didn’t understand why he wanted to allow such anger spread for the sake of strength and progression in the next generation of ninja.

He did not answer at first, but then said. “Yes. It is the reason. But I did not join Zenshin to prevent you and others from healing the trauma of ninja. I joined to find you. You are the only one who can help me now.” 

Sakura sighed at his confession and pulled her hands away, but Rugo caught them desperately, a sharp contrast to his cocky charisma. “If you can heal them, I’ll help you. Don’t tell me what the other healers say. I know that you can fix this.”

Sakura pulled her hands free, hesitant to disappoint him. She fumbled silently in her pocket for an item that she had prepared for the next phase of this night once she was alone in this room with whichever man was unlucky enough to become her recipient, even though it hadn’t exactly happened how she had planned.

“I am sorry Rugo. Brain damage cannot be reveresed. I cannot heal them.”

The man frowned deeply at her words, shaking his head. He was not expecting the sharp prick in his neck that came next. Sakura pushed down on the plunger that pushed the harmless sedative into his bloodstream. Ironically, as a medic, Sakura couldn’t help but notice the widening of his eyes as the muscles registered his surprise, which indicated that the cerebellum, the separate part of the brain in control of muscles still operated perfectly. He crashed to his knees before falling forward as she caught him. 

She wished she had the time to tell him that he was lucky, so incredibly lucky to only have lost his vision from the type of head injury that he had received. If any other parts of the brain had been damaged, he would have likely lost his ability to speak, to control his muscles, to walk; he could have become paralyzed. Maybe, if he were still alive, they could have this conversation in the future after she executed her plan. 

Sakura was only a little disappointed that she hadn’t been able to accept Rugo’s offer of assistance as an inside source, after all. Whether or not he had intended to, the Zenshin member had already given her the information she was looking for. And Sakura never really needed anyone’s help anyway. Not Rugo’s. And not Sasuke’s, either.

Only when Sakura turned on the tap water for the bath that wouldn’t be used after all, and she was certain the sound of it would keep her from being disturbed by the head matron, did Sakura bite into her flesh. Blood pooling at the tip of her finger, Sakura placed her thumb against her palm and pushed her five fingers into the ground, performing the summoning technique. 

“Lady Katsuyu,” Sakura greeted the small slug, 1/1000th of her original body, that began to climb its way over the legs of the man she had just incapacitated. 

Sakura knelt, using her blood smeared finger to trace an intricate symbol on Rugo’s temple. The blood pooling where she had traced, and small trails hastily dissected from the main paths to trickle down into the hair at his temples. “You’re certain this will work?” Sakura asked the human-size slug that reached up to cover the man’s unmoving face with her body. 

“It should,” Katuyu reassured her. “The blood is just an extra step of assurance. I should be able to do this on my own without it.”

Sakura nodded, sparing the little extra chakra it took to stop the blood flowing freely from her thumb without completely healing it. She was going to have to repeatedly break the skin there as the night continued, so growing new skin was not needed.  “This is the first of many.”

“Sakura, dear,” Katsuyu responded as the slug divided into an even smaller version of herself and slipped into Sakura’s outstretched palm while the main body completely consumed the man Sakura had incapacitated.  “Please be careful.”

 “Of course, milady. I’m sorry for what you will witness from this moment on.” She tucked the slug away into the hem of her robe’s neckline. 

Sakura opened the door to her room and turned to stare down the hallway at all the closed doors concealing the fellow members of Zenshin. 

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It was the sheer lack of activity that he was witnessing in his observation spots that first alerted Sasuke that something wasn’t quite right. In every town, if someone positioned themselves correctly, there would be brawling to spectate, scandals to witness, information to gather, but not in Tanigakure, apparently. The last twenty-four hours had been surprisingly uneventful in comparison to his first pass through when Sasuke and Sakura had been ambushed in their sleep. It was odd, how quickly they had been identified the first time in Tanigakure, but Sasuke had yet to be approached. Yes, he had been more discreet than before, but Sasuke was starting to feel annoyed both with his lack of progress in finding Sakura’s whereabouts and this organizations inability to notice his whereabouts. 

That was, until he noticed that nothing around him was particularly noticeable. Ah, he realized. So I have been discovered. It was the only explanation for how fruitless his efforts had been to acquire any real intel about an organization fixated on killing his friend. Sasuke realized immediately that he was purposefully not being fed anything helpful. It only unnerved him when he realized just how many people must be in this group if the multitudes of people he currently watched from above were being intentionally silent. Sasuke also surmised that whatever organization this was, they were also dodging interest from the leaders of Tanigakure. They, too, were trying to fly under the radar.

And so, Sasuke waited in the night, perched above the noisy izakaya once more, rain pattering against his cloak and bouncing from the brim of his black hood, content to play his role while he schemed. He contemplated doing something unexpected just to shake things up, but what would they consider unexpected? Sasuke tried to see this situation for their perspective. This organization knew that Sasuke had followed his pink-haired friend here, and that he was searching for her. They knew that Sasuke had retreated the last time he was here, whisking Sakura away in order to protect them both. They knew he was trying to be discreet so as not to cause any problems for Konoha. With that information, Sasuke deduced that they expected him to continue to look for Sakura, sit and listen discreetly until he located her, interrupt her mission to take her away. They were allowing him to do just as they expected him to in order not to alert him. 

To their extreme disappointment, Sasuke was smarter than everyone involved in this ridiculous plan to distract him. 

And so, Sasuke covered his face tightly. He planned to throw a wrench into the plan, discreetly, while still sending a very strong message to those he assumed lurked in the rain-cloaked shadows. And it wasn’t going to cost him very much chakra. 

Unfortunately for them, thunder rumbled above him, and Sasuke inhaled the energy of the surrounding atmosphere. Unlike in his battle with Itachi, Sasuke did not have to manipulate the air with Amaterasu in order to manipulate the cumulonimbus clouds into existence. They brooded over him regardless, as if his very frustration manifested into the storm that now cast the village in a torrential downpour. For once, Sasuke saw it as a sign that the universe might actually be on his side, that his decision regarding a future with Sakura might have been the right one. One worth destroying a few buildings for. 

And he did exactly that. Sasuke wasn’t entirely his former revenge-seeking self, one bent on the destruction of an entire village, but he smirked dangerously as a flash of lightning struck the infuriatingly useless izakaya. A lightning bolt strikes in 1/1000th of a second, and the explosion happened first. Sasuke waited on the sound to follow before he let out one quick laugh to himself. Sasuke inhaled as if it were the first real breath he had in a long while; it felt so good to let go, to cave to destruction. To push things back into motion and take control of a situation. 

As expected, people ran from the building, some attempting to put out the small fire in the ceiling, while others ducked for cover back into other structures and away from the smoking rooftop. The heavy rain assisted in putting it out very quickly, causing minimal damage. 

It wouldn’t draw enough attention from those who didn’t know that the lightning wasn’t entirely one of nature’s unfortunate disasters. Only those who were watching him as closely as he was suspecting, would realize that Sasuke was done waiting. 

When two ninja landed on either side of him, Sasuke’s Sharningan glowed in the dark as he leaned his head back against the building, arm slung forward over one reclined knee. His Sharingan darted to each of the two men, seeing what no one else could see in the blinding shower and muddled night. Two shinobi, faces covered, stood before him, proudly adorning two headbands with that insufferable five-spiral symbol he’d seen the last time he was here and more recently glimpsed from Mako’s memories. 

“Finally,” the Uchiha breathed as he rolled his neck. 

At his words, the two ninja, obviously assigned to monitor him, glanced at each other in surprise. Sasuke saw it cross their faces: the moment they realized they had been outplayed and forced to show themselves. 

The air, now electrified, lashed out on its own and more lightning crackled in the air above them. In one lightning flash, Sasuke sat unmoving against the building’s side. In the very next, he had swapped with one of the men, teleporting places with him. Timing his movements with the crash of thunder, Sasuke grabbed the second by the neck and hurtled him into the first, smashing their bodies together. Sasuke justified his next actions based on two things: his low levels of chakra and the fact that he had one arm to handle two ninja at once. His katana spun free of its sheath before either men could even react to their sudden collision, and Sasuke skewered them on his blade, penetrating one through the shoulder and the other through the bicep until they were pinned together against the elevated section of the roof. They cried out in unison but their noises didn’t echo beyond the very next crack of lightning that Sasuke generated somewhere in the distance, its very purpose to disguise their screams. 

Releasing the blade, Sasuke knelt before them in the pouring blackness, just so that they could see a glaring set of red and purple irises. He wouldn’t waste his limited chakra combing through their deranged minds, so Sasuke planned to interrogate his preferred way and do it thoroughly. “Where is she?”

“We don’t know who you’re talking ab—,” came the automatic lie, and Sasuke twisted the blade immediately in disguised fury. He was not in the mood to listen to deceptions. The thunder boomed. 

Sasuke sighed. Sometimes it was the most predictable outcomes that tipped Sasuke over into an all-consuming sea of annoyance. If he treaded this sea too long, Sasuke would tire and eventually sink, and the Uchiha was already too well-acquainted with the depths of anger. If he hit the bottom, people would begin to die. And Sasuke didn’t want to be a murderer anymore if he could help it. Steadying himself, Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose and said lowly, “I would advise not bothering to waste my time with more lies. It won’t end well for you.”

“We don’t know,” spat the first man as he clutched at the katana penetrating through his arm. “The lightshow is unnecessary. Someone needs to put you in your place, Uchiha, for using your power in this village.” 

So that was it. As long as Sasuke was laying low, they were planning to leave him to his futile attempts to find Sakura. They didn’t want the real authority alerted to his presence because then Sasuke would talk, explain his presence and involve the real people in charge of this village. That, or there was deal with the higherups. If the village leaders knew of this organzaiton’s activity, they had allowed it to transpire as long as it remained inconspicuous. All of this information told Sasuke that the less evident of a profile this organization could keep, the better. Sasuke suspected that Tanigakure didn’t want multiple villages involved, but were somehow benefiting personally from this arrangement. Sasuke guessed that this secret organization also wanted to eliminate more reputable individuals off their list before they were confronted by multiple parties. It was a testament to their lack of experience and firepower if they had yet to eliminate Number 1 and had already pissed off two out of the five Kage. 

“Last chance to be honest,” Sasuke hissed, twisting the blade deeper into both of their bodies, relishing the squelch of the blade’s movements in their flesh.

“We lost her!” the man in the very back hissed, spitting out rainwater, holding his partner very still with his clenched fists to keep him from jostling the weapon any further. “And many of our men, with her.”

Sasuke unfeelingly blinked at that confession. 

“Shut your mouth,” the front man said to the fellow soldier behind him, jostling the both of them as he tried to shift in order to look back at him. 

“Stop moving!” the man in the back hissed, grabbing more firmly to the man seated practically in his lap. 

They had already located and lost her? The mention of other members of their organization going missing was the part that had Sasuke’s mind trying to make connections. Sasuke wasn’t sure if this was a trap. He had expected it to be a lot more difficult to receive any answers from anyone. So, what was the angle? Did they intend to follow Sasuke to her after telling him that? There would be no chance of that happening; Sasuke would quickly ensure it. 

Inhaling, filling his lungs with electric energy, Sasuke reached forward and gripped the hilt of his katana. The current came from his lungs when he exhaled and it snaked around his arm in a circuiting slither, crisscrossing down the blade until a surge of electricity connected with their open wounds. Another crack of lightning, closer this time. More screaming. 

It had been a very long time since Sasuke had used this technique to simultaneously torture and weaken his captive. He remembered performing this very move on Yamato, the temporary squad leader for Team 7 when they had come searching for Sasuke in one of Orochimaru’s underground hideouts. How ironic that he had once felt the same level of annoyance that he was now, but it had been directed at Team 7. And now. Now, it was because these imbeciles had the absolute audacity to come after one of them, as if any member of Team 7 could be taken down by such dirt beneath their feet. As if Sasuke didn’t have the absolute power to obliterate every single one of them without a second thought. 

“Enough,” Sasuke growled lowly, forcing himself to talk more than he was usually inclined to do. “This current will intensify over the course of two minutes until you are essentially executed by electrocution. Which means you have two minutes to answer my questions without lying. If I even suspect a lie, lightning will travel straight to your heart before two minutes is even up.”  

Their eyes widened, and Sasuke moved out of the path of the rain running down the slope of the roof towards him, until he was free of any electrified water that connected with their bodies. 

“First question,” Sasuke began, thickening the electricity traveling through his arm to his blade. “Where was her last known location?”

“The bathhouse,” groaned the man in the back, the more talkative of the two. “The brothel.”

Despite his usual collected countenance, Sasuke’s red and purple eyes widened marginally at such a word. A brothel? A brothel? A new fire quickly formed in Sasuke’s chest at the revelation, and it was not the lightning-style chakra centralized there. It was a fire of panic and rage. 

“When?” Sasuke asked next, amping up the voltage once more. The man in front, the first to receive electrical current, slumped forward unconscious.

“Earlier in the night,” the guy mumbled, lips beginning to numb with the rest of his body. His words still came out in a rush, however, eager to meet Sasuke’s deadline, before he, too, ended up like his partner. “Our leaders failed to give us our next orders at our usual rendezvous point. We arrived at the bathhouse, their last known location, to investigate—the other girls. They told us she had taken them.” 

“Where is this bathhouse?” came Sasuke’s final question.

“Promise you will spare me, first,” the man pleaded, but Sasuke’s frustration only grew at the begging. Instead of assuring the man, Sasuke twisted his blade again. 

After the scream, came the answer to his question. “On the eastside, against the mountain.” This man, too, fell unconscious, slumping against his partner, when Sasuke poured more electricity into his chest cavity. Sasuke ripped his blade free from their bodies. 

He left them there in the rain, feeling absolutely no guilt at all because they would at least eventually wake up. Unlike every man who had occupied Sakura’s space in a godforsaken brothel, these two men were lucky because they would keep their lives. 

[laurencher]

Dosia 3, 6, 7 (as in, other children younger than him), 9, 12, 17, 18, 26, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 34, 42, 44, 49 teeheeee

Thanks for the asks @dullard, here you are!

3. Dosia is a very optimistic young man who always tries to look at the world in a positive way and not to give up. He keeps repeating the same thought: "I have no right to say that my life is terrible. I have a roof over my head, loved ones who care about me and goals for the future. Why should I be unhappy. Life is beautiful!" However, Dosia is unable to express his emotions normally. He is used to hiding all his insecurities, fears and pain behind a wide smile, he finds it hard to openly express his emotions even in the presence of his own owl mom/big sister. It's easier for him to accumulate it all inside until his guts are shattered.

6. His...huge... EARS. Sometimes he wishes he could get rid of them. He hates it when someone pulls on his ears, it's a very sensitive body part.

7. To be honest... Dosia is very afraid of children. He doesn't have hatred for them, but he feels like a fish out of water around them. But he would never hurt a child.

9. Fear of death

12. When people judge him by his looks.

He is a small fluffy cute harmless ecaflip, yes yes yes yes, but don't be surprised if he abruptly claws at your neck or strikes you with all his mighty hind legs

15. He chews on his paw when he sleeps...and he is a sleepwalker. Ro (his owl guardian) has gotten used to what he sometimes does in this state. Sometimes it's very funny and sometimes it's pretty scary. But it has become a kind of habitual action.

17. I think it is his unbreakable optimism and hope for a bright future, despite all the hardships and problems

18. His owl guardian (mom, big sister) Fukuro. They keep each other alive.  They love each other very much, even though they are always bully each other (it's their thing, only the person who loves you the most can lovingly tell you: "Dosia, you're an ecaflip asshole" or "Ro, if you stay up all night again, I'll pull your feathers out and make earrings out of them GO TO SLEEP FOR FUCK'S SAKE").

26. Cheerfulness, goal-orientedness and cyclothymic disorder.

28. Anger. He is incapable of experiencing anger in the usual sense. Every time he encounters it, instead of irritation and aggression, he starts crying...and he hates to cry, but he can't do it any other way.

29. Ro, their new shared home (their small village and its inhabitants) and his book collection (he dreams of learning to write one day too)

30. His anxiety, insecurities and many fears. And also that he slept together with Ro in the same bed even after he stopped being a little bow meow

32. He doesn't want to think about it too much, it's painful memories for him (the death of his parents, wandering around the world looking for a new home). And it's never going to happen again anyway, right? Why think about it...

33. Friendliness, sociability, empathy

34. He constantly puts up with everything and tries to hide his problems (this brings discomfort not only to him, but also to his loved ones who worry about him). Dosia also gets jealous of his owl mom quite often and worries that others might hurt her. And...he has problems with personal hygiene (if he had a cat mom he could teach it properly, but his foster mom is an owl).

42. His looks, his high baby voice...and the fact that in his opinion he has become an disabling burden for Ro (he hates himself for it, seriously)

44. Fear... Fear of losing Ro. Fear that HIS life will end abruptly and Ro will have to live with it. Long story short, fear of death in any form.

49. He is proud that he is old enough to make his own life, to take care of himself and to be able to help Ro with whatever he can. Ro is the village chief and Dosia is happy to be her right-hand man.

*it's me after the end of writing this post*

[imakemywings]

To Lead You to an Overwhelming Question

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan

Summary: Lavellan thinks Solas needs to relax, and Solas is fighting a losing battle.

Length: 3.8k

AN: Dragon Age 4 trailers come out and I run back to decade-old kink meme prompts. This one is for a 2016 prompt requesting Solas and Lavellan taking a bath together with fluffiness and a bit of Lavellan's anxiety. Hope you're all enjoying being dragged back into DA brainrot as much as I am!

AO3 | Pillowfort

  The sounds of travelers dining and chattering—and occasionally, of Iron Bull’s booming voice in particular—sounded so clearly through the floorboards it was as if Solas had never left the room at all. Normally he might have even enjoyed being amongst them—there was, at times, something comforting about being lost in a sea of voices, unobserved, unnoticed. But that night he preferred the space to himself, and he suspected it would be hours before his companions retired to join him in either of the rooms Lavellan had booked for them there.          

  She found him there, facedown on one of the beds, not sleeping, and not particularly relaxed.

            “Solas?”

            “Did you need something?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his forearms.

            “No, no,” she said quickly. “I only—wanted to see how you were doing.” Solas could tell himself she’d do the same for anyone else in the group—and likely, she would. But when Blackwall had remarked, offhandedly amidst another conversation, that Solas was special to Lavellan, he had struggled to come up with a believable disagreement.

            “Fine,” he said, I f a little tersely.

            “If you have the time, we should clean it,” she said. Solas suppressed a sigh. She was right, of course, but he would rather be left to lay like a rag doll on the thin straw mattress and not have to be responsible about things.

            “Yes, you’re right,” he said, and didn’t add the rest. He peeled himself off the mattress and followed Lavellan downstairs and out back behind the inn. Rocking forward on the soles of her feet, she presented him with not a basin to wash up in, but a full bath, water steaming no doubt from one of her spells. He thought he caught the scent of embrium wafting off the surface. He blinked. Lavellan looked enthused about this, and he could gather she meant it as a gesture.

            It was a leaky wooden tub dumped into the pebbly dirt behind a roadside inn in the middle of ass-fuck-nowhere, Ferelden.

            “I thought it might be more pleasant,” she said. “And I’m sure the rest of you needs cleaning too!” She smiled and so Solas began removing clothes. What did it matter that he recalled the bathhouses of Arlathan in gilt marble, when Lavellan had arranged this one just for him, filled and heated the tub herself?

            When one spent as much time on the road as they did, one became accustomed to limited personal space. Solas was more than habituated to standing calf-deep in icy mountain streams, hurriedly scrubbing days of sweat off himself alongside Varric, Dorian, Blackwall, and the others—even occasionally joining in their banter and horseplay. Even, at times, with the women of the Inquisition, though with no horseplay and considerably less banter, usually owing to a certain amount of rush on account of Inquisition business.

            But that was different than stripping down with no one but Lavellan there, even if she politely turned her attention to the bath, as if the temperature of it might need some careful moderating.

            “Thank you, Guinevere,” he said, sliding off his jawbone necklace to drop onto the pile of his clothes.

            “Hot baths can fix quite a lot, I think,” she said, turning again as he stepped into the water so she still saw nothing of him.

            On that account, certainly, he couldn’t argue; it was all he could do to suppress a groan of relief as he sank into the water, steam briefly enveloping his face.

            “It’s rather large,” he observed in some surprise. If she had told him “the inn has a bathtub” he would have expected something that would leave him with his knees jammed up into his face, assuming he could sit down in it at all, but the tub was fairly roomy. His next words came out of his mouth before he could appeal to the better angels of his common sense: “You could join me.”

            Lavellan’s attention snapped over to him and suddenly she was twisting her hands about in front of her and turning those great brown eyes up to the sky and shuffling her bare feet on the dirt.

            “Ah, well, I…”

            Solas had flustered her, and he found it utterly and entirely impossible to deny the pleased pride that ballooned in his chest about that, no matter how little business he had feeling that way. He mostly managed to keep from smirking while Lavellan dithered.

            “I suppose I could,” she allowed at length, slowly removing the jerkin over her dress. “I’m sure I need it too!” But this time there was a nervous, girlish pitch in her laugh. “Ah, but first, let me have a look at it, won’t you, hahren?”

            Now he knew she was trying to mollify him; this term she almost never used anymore outside of inquiring as to his areas of expertise: she was trying to flatter him with a show of respect. It only made him feel more the crotchety old man, but it was sweet, too, and so he sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the edges of the tub.

            “Ah…” Lavellan moved to stand behind him, and ran her fingers over the inflamed flesh around the gash between his shoulder blades, her touch cool to the angry skin. “Yes, this should be cleaned…” She took up a small, worn cloth draped over the side of the tub, dipped it in the water, then cooled it before she began to carefully dab at the edges of the wound.

            Solas focused on his breathing and intermittently noticed the rigidity of his back and shoulders. Lavellan had healing abilities; he had seen her tend the wounds of others in the Inquisition. And yet…

            (When was the last time someone other than himself had cared for his wounds?)

            The cloth moved away from his injury, passing over undamaged flesh on his back before darting back to wipe around it once more. Solas breathed in and out and told himself it was the perfunctory touch of a healer and nothing more.

            “You needn’t be embarrassed about it,” she said gently then, which of course, only made Solas feel it the more keenly. “It was a difficult fight. You were not the only one injured.”

            What he could not say to her was that it simply was not the same. And, in this instance, no one else’s injuries had been of the severity of his own, a consequence of both of the weakness still lingering after his awakening, and his recklessness in combat, which had been an enemy of his for years.

            “I should have been more careful,” was what he said.

            “We all make mistakes,” Lavellan said, and Solas bit back a hiss as she dribbled a bit of water over the wound to sluice it out.

            “Some cannot afford to do so,” he replied. “We are among them.”

            “If we must be infallible to succeed, we are bound to fail,” Lavellan murmured.

            Even outdoors, the clamor of the dining room could be faintly heard, and in the other direction, the chittering of birds in the trees. The water of the bath sloshed quietly each time Lavellan rinsed the cloth.

            At length, she said: “But that is why we have a team. Where one fails, the others may recover.” She hesitated only briefly before adding: “We look after each other.”

            Solas stared into the thin semicircle of trees around the backside of the property and tried to think of the kind of trite, reassuring thing to say that would be appropriate. Before he could get there, he was distracted by Lavellan’s cloth on his shoulders and the back of his neck and automatically his attention returned to her.

            “Guinevere?”

            “I was here already,” she responded cheerfully, stroking the cloth down his upper arm. He froze, again lost for the right thing to say if for entirely different reasons, and then she froze, and for a moment they must have made a ridiculous tableau. Then she moved away, over to where he could see her clearly, and offered him the cloth.

            “Unless you prefer to do it yourself,” she amended. “I did not mean to overstep; I’m sorry.”

            “You have never,” Solas said quickly. “Please, if you—if you wish, you may continue.” For his part, he tried only not to shudder when he felt her touch resume. At once he was far too aware of his physical form: of the racing of his heart, the beat of his blood in his ears, the thorough care of Lavellan’s hands as she wiped the grime of travel and war from his body (he even felt the studious tickling of the cloth behind his ears).

            His thoughts were a storm-wrecked sea; he could make sense of none of them; they beat too loudly and violently against the rocks. The only one which surfaced clearly was a sharp awareness that he could not recall that anyone had ever touched him precisely as Lavellan was doing then, with such care and concern and—

            You’re special to her, Blackwall had said.

            I can’t be! Solas wanted to scream.

            He couldn’t even try to make the reverse argument; it wasn’t worth the wasted breath. No one else in the Inquisition did he give as much time as Lavellan, and it was wholly apart from her organizational identity. But to break his own heart was a burden he would simply have to bear; to break hers…

            When he managed to pull himself back onto the beach of his mind, Lavellan was sitting on the edge of the tub, taking his hand in hers, eyes cast down at her work while she rubbed clean his hand and wrist. Each fingernail she gave a little scrub and he could feel the callouses on the hand grasping his, and he felt lightheaded. Lavellan did not touch him with the reverence of a devotee nor the cold dismissal of an employer; he wanted never to move, to feel her at these ministrations with the rag for the rest of time, and he wanted to grab her hands and kiss every knuckle and every line.

By the time Solas managed to reign in the half of his mind intent on fantasizing about meeting Lavellan in Arlathan, she was sheepishly offering him the rag.

            “I imagine the rest you’ll want to do yourself,” she said. Automatically, Solas took the cloth and began a rapid, rote scrubbing of the rest of himself, still dazed.

            That was how he missed that Lavellan was undressing.

            Because he, stupid fool, had invited her into the bath with him.

            She too, was accustomed to bathing with company, he imagined. She had been on the road with the Inquisition nearly as long as he had, and even before that it must have been typical for her. As he saw and understood, privacy was virtually nonexistent among the Dalish; their lifestyle simply did not allow for compunctions about doing virtually anything in full view of other people.

            Yes, he had seen her naked before. But there was a difference—a vast, perhaps insurmountable difference, he was learning presently—between catching a glimpse of her a few yards down the river out of the corner of his eye, or staring intently at her face to avoid looking lower while he answered a question, and having her standing overhim near enough that he had to turn his face away to avoid being directly eye-level with the nest of tight black curls between her legs.

            Hastily, he attempted to make room for her, idiotically moving his feet apart in an effort to get his legs out of the way so that he effectively invited her to come sit between them.

            Perhaps it would have been better if he had never woken up at all.

            Fortunately she only laughed a little and stepped delicately into the water, tucking herself against the far rim with a quiet noise of pleasure. Aware that the water had cooled since they began, Solas warmed it again with a gesture of his hand and Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

            “Ah, that’s nice,” she sighed.

            “I should return the favor for you,” Solas said, sending down a cascade of water as he jumped to his feet. Lavellan’s eyes fixed demurely on the place where the wall of the inn met the dirt; he hurriedly moved out of the tub so she had room to stretch herself out a little more. “If I haven’t spoilt that rag entirely.”

            “It can’t be dirtier than I am already,” Lavellan chuckled wearily, tipping her head back against the rim of the tub. Nevertheless, he gave it a good rinse, and Lavellan leaned forward so he could get at her back.

            Hours in the Haven jail he had held her hand, draped her limp body over his lap as he picked and puzzled at the anchor in rising frustration and desperation. If he had known a way to do it, he would have killed her then to take it back. But as he had learned when she invited him to show her a few spellcasting tricks, there was yet another difference in handling an unconscious body, and being welcomed to touch a person.

            Water glistened off her dark skin and as Solas wiped the rag over her back and shoulders, so simple a motion that felt like running his hands over the firmament, he observed a small scar on her right shoulder.

            “What’s this?” he asked, pressing a finger against it.

            “Oh,” she said, and then gave a small laugh. She did not withdraw from the touch. “An effort at Dalish entertainment.” When Solas’ only answer was puzzled silence, she elaborated: “We like archery competitions. Only when you’re of a young enough age, you’re meant to be observed by an adult.”

            “Ah, I see.” Some amusement crept into his voice.

            “Well, you know how young ones are. One of the children around my age forgot to wait for the rest of us to finish gathering our arrows before taking another shot.”

            Solas fingered the scar, envisioning Lavellan as a gap-toothed child, running through the fields of the Dales or under the canopy of the Emerald Graves, mimicking the way she saw her elders handle a bow.

            “Everyone else was mostly cross he got us in trouble.”

            “And you?”

            “I was rather more concerned with the arrow, as you might imagine. Although I was also unhappy to be in trouble.” She laughed. “There is a particular shame in being scolded by a healer trying to fix you up.” Solas wrapped the cloth over one finger, and gently scraped behind Lavellan’s ears, observing the tiny wisps of hair that curled there, little locks much too short to make it into her braids. Now that it was he with the license to touch her, he could not have imagined doing less than a thorough job on every square centimeter of her. “That is one thing which prepared me for this, I suppose,” she said meditatively.

            “And what is that?”

            “Part of a keeper’s job is keeping social harmony within the clan,” said Lavellan. “That means she can spend a lot of time mediating small disputes. Many of these she might delegate to a first, if she has one.”

            “Ah, so you were the arbiter of Clan Lavellan’s petty squabbles,” said Solas. No wonder she was patient; he could not have imagined a less desirable job himself if he tried.

            “Often, yes,” she said. “And it is a skill I have found quite useful in the Inquisition!”

            “I imagine so,” he agreed. “Would you lift your arm?” She did, and he wiped along the underside of it, and then went to wash her underarm, but there she squealed and flinched away.

            “Not like that, that tickles,” she objected.

            “My apologies,” Solas said graciously. “Allow me.” And as soon as she had exposed her armpit again he did the exact same thing, making her yelp and spin around to look at him, water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

            “Terrible!” she cried. “What a liar you are!” But he could see her lips twitching, trying not to smile and so it was impossible not to return the look.

            “Perhaps I should allow you to finish yourself,” he said, holding the rag out to her. Lavellan responded by giving him a face full of used bathwater and as he crouched naked in the dirt, dripping wet and taken by surprise, Solas could not stop himself from full-throated laughter. Lavellan’s smile appeared clearly and she snatched back the rag.

            “Some Inquisitorial advisor you are,” she sniffed.

            “I never saidI wouldn’t do it again,” he pointed out as Lavellan scrubbed at her legs and feet.

            “Tch. If I were your keeper I’d give you a time out,” she said, and Solas laughed again.

            “Oh, yes? And what does that entail?”

            “Naughty children go sit away from their toys and the other children to think about what they’ve done,” Lavellan said, bending over to splash water on her face.

            “So this is a punishment for children?”

            “If you behave like a child, why shouldn’t I scold you like a child?” she asked, looking up at him, and Solas bit down on a grin.

            “I suppose that is fair,” he said with feigned gravity.

            “Now, are you going to finish washing up?”

            As it turned out, even with a larger-than-expected tub, there was not a great deal of room for two people, so they settled for taking turns. Lavellan sat on the rim with her feet in the water while Solas a enjoyed the tub, and then they traded. As mages, they could keep it warm as long as they liked, and it did feel positively divine on joints and muscles sore from travel and combat, so they had no rush.

            Lavellan gleamed in the fading afternoon light and Solas’ eyes traced the path of stretchmarks on her hip he could have reached out and touched. Perhaps she even would have let him. Her own gaze was fixed off in the distance, and Solas did not have to be a reader of minds to guess the Inquisition was weighing on her. As with his own burden, he imagined it was a constant companion—it was just that sometimes she was able to subordinate it to other things.

            “This was a kind thing of you to do,” he said quietly when their conversation had lapsed for some time. Lavellan shrugged one shoulder and swung her feet through the water. When she said nothing, he added: “The Inquisition is fortunate to have one at its head with such a heart.”

            “I worry it won’t be enough,” Lavellan blurted out, looking over at him. “It should have been someone else. I haven’t the temperament for this. But.” She waved her left hand humorlessly, the glow of the anchor low presently. “They had no choice. It should have been you. You know so much more about these things, and you are so much more certain of yourself than I am. Keeper Deshanna used to tell me I avoided making decisions so much it was like having no leader at all.” She exhaled in a long sigh and tipped her face up towards the sky. “I’m glad it’s not, though,” she murmured.

            Solas straightened slightly, tilting his head.

            “What do you mean by that?” he asked. Lavellan’s eyes fell on him once more and he found her thoughtful expression difficult to read.

            “I would not wish this position on anyone for whom I cared,” she said. For a moment—for a moment—Solas felt sure there was something more she wanted to say, and perhaps even meant to say—but she did not.

            He stared at her, at her face, at the anchor, and the shame in his breast pierced keener than an arrow. What kind of wretch was he, to play at friendship, at flirting, at love with one he had—albeit inadvertently—put in this position?

            “You look tired,” said Lavellan sympathetically. She rose to her feet. “I have disturbed your rest long enough, I think. Let’s go inside. Would you like me to do the healing before bed?”

            Solas sighed, and nodded.

            “Yes, I think that would be for the best. Thank you.” Healing was never a comfortable experience.

            “As the keeper of the Inquisition, I don’t mind,” she said with a smile, stepping out of the water to gather her clothes. A few minutes earlier, Solas might have teased her more, asking if that was the only reason she didn’t mind—but shame held his tongue now.

            “Nevertheless,” he said soberly. “I appreciate the effort you give.”

            Lavellan’s expression grew more serious, and softer.

            “I am happy to do it, Solas,” she said. “Truly.” For a few moments, they were busy dressing, and then she added: “There are so many parts of being the Inquisitor at which I fail, or struggle. This, at least, is something I know I can do. I am glad to have the chance to do it. Not,” she added, looking up in a rush, “that I am glad you were injured! Only that I have the ability to help.”

            Solas looked long on her in silence, the upwelling of grief in his chest making it too tight to speak, and then at last he said something he had told her before: “You have a good heart, Guinevere.”

            She seemed as at a loss for how to respond then as she had before.

            “Thank you,” she said at last. “I am relieved you think so.”

            “Guinevere?” Seeker Pentaghast stuck her head out the back door and did a double-take to see both of them beside the filled tub. “I didn’t see you in our room so I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”

            “No demons here,” said Lavellan with a smile. “The water’s still hot if you like, though there’s probably a mud bottom to it now.”

            “It is truthfully still tempting,” said Cassandra. “And we should probably wash while we have the chance.”

            “That’s what I thought as well. I’m going to see to Solas’ wound now; if anyone else needs healing, let them know I’ll be ready to do it soon,” Lavellan replied.

            Seeker Pentaghast returned inside, and Lavellan looked over at Solas.

            “Well…do you feel any better?” she asked.

            “Yes,” Solas lied, because physically it was true, and the rest was not Lavellan’s responsibility. “Very much so. Thank you, Guinevere.”

            “My pleasure,” she said, and Solas knew she was genuine. He felt that much more miserable about it. “Shall I take care of you now?” she asked, gesturing towards the door.

            He could not stop the way his eyes softened, or the way his heart yearned towards that question.

            “Yes,” he said gently. “I would be glad for it.”

[thistlesofgrace]

Every morning recently I pour my cup of coffee and I open my notes app on my phone and I type in 3 things I’m grateful for.

I attended a yoga class recently and the instructor spent a few moments talking about how when we consistently acknowledge the things we are grateful for, it becomes habitual and can even improve the way we think about things. It’s an easy practice to implement and I already look forward to adding my notes.

Today, I’m grateful for the means to provide such quality lives to my pets. They really do live it up. And they give me so much back. Oh, and I’m grateful for the water heater. Can’t imagine a life without that thing. I know cold plunges are supposedly beneficial but I’m imagining a world in which the only plunge is cold and it sounds like a nightmare.

Anyway, point of the post, it’s nice to slow down and reflect on the things in life. Good and bad. But better to think on the good, makes the bad…less.

Let me know if you try it. Don’t think about it too hard. You don’t have to be profound. I didn’t wake up planning to give gratitude to my water heater… 🤣